


Damsel in the Glass Tower

by PhelfromGrace



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Chancellor Hux, Coruscant (Star Wars), Dark to Light with HEA, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Fluff, Droids, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Existential Crisis, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Food (Star Wars), Power Dynamics, Rose Tico Deserved Better, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhelfromGrace/pseuds/PhelfromGrace
Summary: The First Order won the war, and Armitage Hux is appointed Chancellor of the New Order.  He has reached the pinnacle of power, but feels a void in his private life and seeks a kitchen servant who could fill the role of his deceased mother.When the call for recruitment goes out to the masses of Coruscant, Rose enters the frontline equipped with an arsenal of her grandmother’s recipes and a poison that can put him forever asleep.  She may have bitten off more than she can chew when her mission goes awry...
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 108
Kudos: 163





	1. The Contest of a Lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** some dominant Hux and mild violence in this chapter

[ P A R T I : H E R ]  
**

The vial of poison in her left breast pocket weighed heavily on her heart, despite its small size.

 _He_ would also learn not to underestimate people by their size and social class, if only Rose could get past the watchful eyes of this kriffin’ surveillance droid monitoring her every move. It mockingly played back a holo in real-time, showing evidence of its recordings and relaying a very clear message: shut up and cook.

Rose didn’t need to be reminded. She had been waiting for this opportunity for too long; she would indeed shut up and cook because the chrono was counting down, and she was running out of time. She slapped the dough hard, kneading and pulling, in the way her grandmother had taught her. The Rishi corn flour had a lot more bounce than her preferred Haysian mineral flour, but of course this contest wouldn’t carry such an ingredient. All the credits in the galaxy couldn’t buy it. That flour only existed in her memory because her planet was destroyed.

Rose worked up a sweat as she beat the dough into a thin uniform layer that she hand-cut into perfect circles. Meanwhile, the women around her handled their ingredients with the high-tech devices supplied by the Grand Kitchen. She would have loved to peek more closely at the equipment, which wasn’t available down in the Coruscant Underworld where she had been hiding since the Resistance lost the war. As she craned her neck, the stupid droid began to flash red.

“92271581. Lilliandra Tarr. Please return to your station,” said the robotic voice.

“Fine, fine. I was just curious about that gyroscopic hand-beater. No need to get all your wires in a bunch. I’m not doing anything suspicious, okay?”

She rolled her eyes, and wondered how to proceed. This damn droid was so nosy, impossible to bypass.

“Before you start beeping on me again, I just need to order in a few more ingredients. Don’t worry, no funny business.” She reached for her assigned datapad and submitted her order of veg and seasoning, the contents of her filling. A flying courier droid almost came immediately to deliver the goods. “Talk about efficiency. I guess that’s one good thing about the New Order.”

Her hands set to work on the filling, while she wondered about the surveillance droid’s weak point. It must receive external data somewhere, and maybe she could set off an ‘accidental’ explosion of flour that would create enough of a distraction for her to slip in a drop of poison into the filling. Tentatively, she placed her finger over the black bulb on the droid’s top, to see if it would alter the holo.

The stupid droid began flashing red and beeping again.

“Okay sorry, sorry! I just thought you were cute. The black bulb looks like a cap, and I wanted to pet you. That’s what we humans do to cute things, okay? We pet them.”

To her surprise, the droid flashed green. Maybe it was warming up to her.

“What’s your unit and number?” she asked, as she finished preparing the filling.

“YT-818.”

“You must be new on the market. I’ve never heard of that unit for a droid before, only for a ship.” She daubed some filling on a thin slice of dough, then expertly folded it into an elegant dumpling. Her grandmother only used this folding technique for special occasions. “Are you manufactured here, in Coruscant?”

“Affirmative.”

Rose folded a couple more dumplings, and her hands began to shake. The more she folded, the less chances she got at delivering the poison. But she couldn’t slow down; the chrono was seriously working against her.

“Are you only meant to snoop on the kitchen staff?”

“Negative. YT-818 capabilities range from surveillance to security and detention.”

_In other words, you can stun me and lock me up. Got it._

“Sounds like a nice set of abilities. You have a long career ahead of you, YT.”

The droid flashed green, again.

No matter how much she charmed this thing, it wouldn’t change the fact that she had finished folding all the dumplings and they were going into the steamer. She had failed to find an opening. Her only hope was to win the contest and become kitchen staff, but it seemed even more unlikely. By the looks of the lavish dishes around her, these women were either professional cooks or full-time homewives.

Rose removed her dumplings from the steamer. They were nice, on Haysian standards, but definitely fell short for the high class of Coruscant, and even further below the expectations of _Chancellor Hux._ She barely had time to place them on a new plate when the flying courier droid whizzed past and snatched the dish. Time was up. She had failed.

“Good luck, 92271581.”

“Thanks, YT.”

The droid blinked intermittently with flashes of green, yellow, and red. Like a celebratory dance. Rose just wanted to cry.

**

“Lilliandra Tarr. Identification number 92271581. You have been chosen.”

Rose peered down at her identification badge, and blinked. She knew that her name was temporarily ‘Lilliandra’, but maybe there were others with the same name. She began carefully re-reading her identification number: 9…2…2…7…

“Lilliandra Tarr? I repeat. Lilli-aan-dra Tarrrr. 9-2-2. 7-1-5. 8-1. Please step forward.”

The crowd became agitated, all fidgety movement and a buzz of gossipy murmurs. Rose slowly stood up, and the sea of heads turned in her direction. She had never been the centre of this much attention, never seen a crowd so intimidating and large… aside from one time long ago. Although, it wasn’t a crowd that time, it was an _army_. And she was bound, on her knees, at the mercy of an evil General who ordered her execution. She shivered at the memory of those cold eyes, and barely registered the touch of the Head Matron who took her wrist and guided her out of the crowd.

“Hurry Lilli, we must get yourself cleaned up for your audience with the Chancellor.”

“What?! Hang on, stop pulling me.” Rose shook off the Matron’s clutch and stopped in her tracks. “I’m chosen, meaning I’m hired right? Surely the Chancellor doesn’t need to meet one servant among many others, right??”

A high-pitched laugh pierced her eardrums. “Have you not heard the rumour?”

“Oh don’t tell her, she clearly hasn’t. He’ll take one look and be turned off.”

“The Chancellor isn’t looking for a kitchen servant. He’s looking for a _wife_.”

Rose nearly choked on her own spit, but somehow managed to get her jaw moving. “Isn’t this for a job, as part of the staff, here?”

“Are you illiterate? The hologram clearly specified that the position is a kitchen servant for his _private residence_. Not the Grand Kitchen.”

“How ignorant must you be, bet she’s from some low-level zone.”

Of course she didn’t get the hologram. She only received coded intel through her sliced comm system down in the Underworld, and her collaborator only seemed interested in nihilism and thriller holodrama plots. They only wanted ‘to see the galaxy crash and burn.’

A gentler voice from the crowd piped in. “There are no sentient servants at the Chancellor’s private residence, just droids. This is a first. Everyone suspects he’s looking for companionship, but it might not be true.”

The Matron placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up for your audience. We shouldn’t make the Chancellor wait too long.”

**

Her body felt numb under the otherwise pleasant vibrating pulse of the sonic shower. Rose couldn’t believe that she was chosen, that she actually _won_. Her mission wasn’t a failure, yet. There was still a seriously pressing worry: what if he remembered her. He didn’t know her name, and they only shared a brief encounter… but she bit him, and spat, right in front of his face. That _might_ have left an impression.

She hoped that his memories of that fateful day were fogged up by the exploding _Supremacy_ , the murder of Supreme Leader Snoke, the ascent of Kylo Ren, and the rebirth of the Resistance… although, she couldn’t feel smug about that last fact. The Resistance ended up getting crushed. Maybe all the events were irrelevant, beneath his notice, now that he was in power. She could only hope that he forgot about that day.

Rose exited the stall and slipped on her undergarments. She had carefully tucked the vial of venom into her brassiere when the Matron barreled into the refresher, carrying a dress, shoes, and small kit. “Borrowed these from one of the girls since you clearly did not come prepared. Don’t worry, Lilli, I’m not blaming you, nay? It must be a shocker, real shocker for all of us, really.”

The wizened woman dumped the dress and shoes to the side, and opened the kit to pull out some pins and ties. She began arranging her hair, tying it back in an elegant low bun; her old hands worked with surprising grace and speed.

“And I’m not sayin’ it’s a shocker ‘cause it’s you, nay? The contest has been dragging for weeks, thought it wouldn’t ever end. The Chancellor often didn’t even take a bite, just walked around, looked, turned up his nose even when the dishes were spectacular.”

She reached into the kit and took out cosmetics. Rose nearly flinched when she dabbed colour onto her face, but soon relaxed under the Matron’s gentle application.

“I’m hopeful. You’ve got this. The Chancellor is very particular with his time, he won’t waste it if it wasn’t gonna be worth it. He won’t resist.” She added a last stroke of soft pink to her lips, and then handed Rose a mirror.

The change was subtle but remarkable. Her eyes looked brighter, her lips fuller, her complexion youthful and charming. It sparked a little hope: she might successfully fool the Chancellor. After all, he only saw her face for a few minutes, six years ago, and she did not look this clean and feminine.

“Okay, now get changed. I’ll wait outside.”

Rose picked up the dress, and was pleased with its modest floor length, high collar and short sleeves, but _what in the flying Force_ — the chest was cut-out. Not completely cut-out, but enough that it would show her brassiere. She sighed, then removed the vial and placed it safely on the floor. She stripped off her undergarment, swung her medallion to her back, and squeezed into the dress. Rose wondered whether the owner was much more petite, or if she just wasn’t used to this type of attire. The length perfectly hit the floor, but the bust felt constricting; it pushed her breast together to form a distracting line, which somehow felt more embarrassing than if she were naked.

However, the concerning problem was hiding the poison. She slid the vial under her left breast, and looked into the mirror. There was a small bump, but the black colour of the dress helped to conceal it. The detail was unnoticeable, unless someone was _really_ looking.

**

The dining hall blinded her with both jaw-dropping beauty, and actual intense light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling transparisteel wall at the end of the vast space. After her eyes adjusted, Rose savoured the blue hue from the skies that stretched into the horizon, a colour that she forgot existed, it had been too long. But she couldn’t leisurely admire the spectacle because, at the centre of this amazing backdrop, stood a dark silhouette that filled her stomach with dread.

She took careful steps, trying to hold back the clack of her borrowed heels against the Wayland marble floor. It still echoed loudly, and yet didn’t seem to alert the tall lean man. His stance never wavered, with hands clasped behind his back, so rigidly upright that he blended with the innumerable durasteel towers in the Coruscanti skyline.

Her attention drifted to the long table next to her, filled with plate after plate of impressive foodstuff. How in the galaxy did he pick hers out of all these amazing dishes? Such opulence, such waste of resources, just to please one man. As the wafts of delicious aromas hit her nose, flavours so enticing that she could almost taste them on her tongue, she only swallowed resent.

Once she reached the head of the table, she spotted her dish surrounded by elaborate cutlery and an ornate glass of emerald wine— what a _kriffin’_ ridiculous sight. It was layman’s food. It was best eaten with bare hands and the company of family, not with pretentious luxury. She did a quick count, and was surprised to see that he actually ate a few. If only that stupid droid didn’t watch her every move, she could have slipped in the poison and he’d be a puddle of mush in a few days.

As if sensing her morbid thoughts, he abruptly turned around. Caught off-guard, she stood there a little entranced by his clear eyes that reflected the beautiful Coruscanti skies; she quickly killed the fleeting admiration, reminding herself that this was the man who took away her sky, and probably continued to do so to others across the galaxy.

“You look…young,” he stated. “Tell me your age.”

“Twenty-nine standard years, Chancellor.”

“Twenty-nine? How curious… Lilliandra Tarr, according to the database, you should have been fifty-six standard years, married, two children. The details do not match, how is that possible?”

Rose didn’t like where this was going. He was suddenly getting too close, too tall, like a dark shadow cast over her. She backed up but the shadow followed, until her lower back hit the table and she couldn’t move any further. She had to tell the truth within her lie.

“This is a chance anyone would die for. I got help from a friend, wealthier than me, they gave me their ticket. I know that’s cheating, but the system is messed up to start— I mean, there’s tons of talent out there, even if you come from nothing. I had a connection, so I used it. Otherwise, I’d have to wait a year or more just for a chance, and by then, you probably would have found someone for the job already.”

She felt out of breath, and placed her palms on the edge of the table to keep her balance. She didn’t dare lift her head to meet his gaze, instead choosing to focus on the gold flecks in the white marble tiles. There was once a time when she could pierce the eyes of the monster, all defiance and confidence; with the recklessness of youth, she even bit the hand that taunted, the hand that held her life in his palm. Now, she knew better. There was a time to fight, and there was a time to keep her head down. To survive this, she needed to stay quiet and hope that he would not recognize her.

“Fair point,” he said, much to her relief. Her cover wasn’t yet busted. “What is your real name?”

“I— umm, don’t have one.”

“You, _don’t have one?”_

“Well, you see, I’m an orphan. So they just called us by our identification code and umm, 2187 was mine.”

“2187?”

“Yeah, but everyone calls me… Paige. They call me Paige ‘cause an ID code is kind of dumb to say, you know. Paige is a good nickname, but it’s technically not my _real_ name.”

“2187…” He pondered, too long for comfort. “What a strange coincidence. That number brings back memories, FN-2187— the traitor who caused quite the headache during the war, not that he made any difference in the grand scheme…”

With her head down, she watched him remove the glove from his right hand. This wasn’t going well. She was never good at lying under pressure.

“This scar… shaped like a half moon. It is faint, but the memory is clear. Next to the traitorous FN-2187, a woman from the Otomok system—” His bare hand met her cheek, forcing her to look at him…

She blew it. Even under the cosmetics and tidy hair, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize her now because she couldn’t stop herself. She glared at him, with the same fury as that day. It was only a matter of time before…

_“You.”_

Rose reacted on instinct, not by biting his hand— she grabbed a knife from the cutlery behind her and lunged forward, aiming for his gut. He dodged the attack, swiftly taking hold of her wrist and twisting her arm until she was forced to spin around, her back now to him. His tight grip made her fingers lose circulation; she dropped the knife, as he wrestled her to the ground and subdued her kicking legs with his weight, firmly pinioning both wrists at the small of her back. The cold marble floor rubbed against the bare skin of her chest, but she only felt hot, from rage and from his body on top of hers.

“I knew you looked familiar. I doubted my intuition, I didn’t want to believe that insignificant _vermin_ would have survived the war, but no, I was right. You survived and here you are, again, beneath me.”

She struggled but it was no use. He leaned closer. The tip of his nose brushed her ear as he whispered, “Now tell me, rebel scum. What is your name?”

“Rose Tico,” she said, feeling a swell of newfound confidence. She hadn’t said her name aloud in years; she needed to say it again, loud and clear. “I am Rose Tico from Hays Minor, Ex-Commander of the Resistance Engineering Corps.”

“And what did you plan on accomplishing today, Ex-Commander?”

“Assassination.”

“On behalf of the Resistance?”

“No.” Rose was firm and told the truth. “For revenge. Personal revenge.”

“Against me, _personally?_ I don’t even know you.”

“That’s true. But you’re the head of the First Order that made my life a living hell. You took _everything_ from me— my planet, my people, my family, even my found family and the hope I had for the future. I’ll never forget how you stripped Hays Minor for its ore, took our skies, and then shelled us, taking our lives.

“When we resisted and fought back to save our freedom, you meticulously picked us out, one by one. I was forced underground, alone, into a miserable life in the shadows, in Coruscant’s Underworld. As the last survivor of Otomok and a surviving member of the Resistance, you deserve a brutal fitting death. So yeah, it’s personal.”

Rose fought back her tears, refusing to show any more weakness in front of this monster. She couldn’t see his expression, but she hoped that her words made it through. If she was going to die, she wanted her story to be heard. She wanted to be seen.

He shifted his grasp, leaving her left wrist in place, but bringing her right arm upwards until it twisted around and over her head. Her hand dangled dangerously close to his face.

“Truthfully, I also have a personal score to settle— well, not that I seriously entertained the idea, it was nothing but a passing thought. You see, Rose, when I look at the scar you gave me, it’s only fair that I return the favour.”

He pulled her wrist towards him, and she felt his teeth sink into the side of her palm. A searing pain coursed through her body; she writhed and screamed, shouting profanities, but he held on like a rabid cur and sank harder, drawing blood. Once satisfied, he released her from the bite, and then licked the wound, swirling his hot tongue over her broken skin. His finishing touch however hurt the most: he stabbed at her pride as he placed gentle kisses, repeatedly, over the half-moon of punctures.

Each mocking kiss chipped away at her confidence. This man could bite and kiss, hurt and comfort, however he pleased. He held all the power.

The humiliation left her defeated. She barely responded when his right hand released her wrist, and touched her neck, moving down her throat, to the valley of her chest. He cupped and squeezed her right breast, then reached for the other, slipping bare fingers between the constraining fabric. His soft fingertips pressed into her flesh, crossing over her areola, her nipple, until he found what he was looking for— the vial. He removed himself from her limp body, standing tall with the weapon in his palm.

Rose sat up, panting and holding her maimed hand. She looked at him with venom in her eyes, but she also knew, this was it. She was dead. He would force-feed the poison to her or splash it on her open wound, and she would explode into a pile of liquid and shriveled guts in a few days.

“Fascinating substance. What is it precisely?”

There was no need to lie. “Venom from the Parnassos beetle.”

His eyes went wide. Rose continued. “That’s right, the same stuff that killed your father, that you schemed to get him killed. I hear it’s a well-kept secret within the First Order, but pretty easy to find out when you’re the commander of the Resistance’s Engineering Corps and have access to all its intelligence. Not to mention, easy to procure when you’re living within the scum and villainy of the Underworld.”

Much to Rose’s bafflement, his lips quirked then lifted into a smile. Then, he chuckled.

Has he gone insane? She just revealed how she planned on killing him and he looked _excited._ His face relaxed, appearing younger and somewhat soft. Was he always this expressive? She had no idea what it meant, and she didn’t want to know.

“You are _impressive,”_ he finally said. “Too impressive for your own good.”

She debated grabbing another knife and trying to stab him before her imminent death, but her limbs remained paralyzed. He was walking away, he was leaving; it was her last chance to strike, but her muscles still did not respond. His footsteps receded into a faint echo, then finally, she heard the hiss of a door opening and closing. He was gone.

Rose did not feel relief. She might not have known him personally, but she knew his tactics: he never committed murder with his bare hands. He would get someone else to do it, after torturing her for intel that she honestly did not have. This was the end. Alone, in a too-tight dress, on a cold floor. At least she could witness the sunset sky one last time.

The throb in her hand was distant compared to the emotional pain of this whole ordeal. She leaned her forehead against drawn knees, and silently cried. She had been fighting too much, hating too much. She used to save what she loved, not fight what she hated. Somewhere in the last six years, as the tide of war favoured the First Order and decimated the Resistance, she forgot her own wisdom. That was her biggest mistake, her only regret.

She spent all her credits on the Parnassos beetle venom when she could have tried to get herself out of Coruscant. It shouldn’t come as any surprise that revenge poisoned her mind. Nothing good came from hate.

Footsteps echoed once more in the hall. The troopers were here to take her away or fire a blaster bolt to her head. She could get up and resist, like she had done in the past, but this was their land, their _galaxy_. There was no place for people like her anymore.

“Lilli, oh stars, are you alright?” A warm hand touched her shoulder. Rose looked up to meet the kind eyes of the Matron. “Oh, my dear, was the news that surprising? You must be overwhelmed, of course you are, this will change your life. No wonder you’re breaking down—but we must hurry. The airspeeder is ready for you.”

She pulled Rose up to her feet. She didn’t seem to notice her bleeding hand, too pre-occupied with getting to the door as fast as possible.

“Quickly now. The airspeeder is waiting. We must hurry. You know, I told the other girls, I had faith— there’s no way he’d turn down a pretty young lady like you.”

Rose’s knees buckled and she hung onto the table for support. “Where’s this airspeeder taking me?”

The Matron smiled. “Still can’t believe it, nay? The Chancellor’s private residence. You’ll be living with him from now on—”

_Kriff no._

“— and if you’re lucky, for the rest of your lifetime.”


	2. The First Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [GerdavR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GerdavR), [fluffynexu](https://fluffynexu.tumblr.com/) and [bookaholic](https://bumbleebee-tights.tumblr.com/) for the chats and encouragement! I probably would have dropped this story otherwise. Multi-chapter fics and long-form writing are a weakness of mine, so I’m taking this on as a challenge. 
> 
> Please mind the tags! This will be a dark fairytale (with a HEA), so it starts dark/kinky before turning light. I don’t feel like discussing every problematic point from hereon, so I’ll just say, dead dove: do not eat.
> 
> **Warnings:** dubcon/noncon, dominant Hux, depictions of violence, mention of rape in this chapter

**

If Paige was watching from the spirit world, if there was even such a thing as a spirit world, Rose hoped that she would laugh or at least smile at the sheer absurdity of her current appearance. High heels, long dress, shuffling down a dark corridor that resembled the bowels of a Star Destroyer. Rose had often joked about the elegant gowns she had worn on missions, that her grease-stained jumpsuit was totally a showstopper piece at an elite gala, and maybe it had turned a few heads all those years ago in that casino on Canto Bight, for the wrong reasons of course.

But now, she really was dressed in elegant eveningwear on a quest against all odds to slay the Chancellor of the New Order. This was only supposed to exist in her imagination, in the stories that she and Paige made up. It was supposed to be a farce, yet somehow, the joke had twisted and become reality. She crossed her arms over her exposed chest, chilled by the increasing cold air and the silence. This place was depressing. The madman no doubt modelled his personal living space after a warship, floating above the bustling world of Coruscant, always looking down on people like they were the dirt beneath his polished boots, always subjugating, wrestling them to the ground, pressing his whole weight and whispering with hot breath against her ear. Sharp teeth, wet tongue, gentle kisses— no, she had to stop thinking about that. She shouldn’t dwell on the humiliation. She was alive, for now, and that was what mattered. But it was hard to shut off the disgusting feeling when her hand still burned from the recent memory.

She crossed a threshold, and durasteel barriers erupted from the walls, slamming shut behind her. Shivering and panicked, she searched the adjacent walls for a control panel, but there was none, not even a single screw or crack that she could pry open if she had the tools. So slick and perfect, like his stupid hair. Why was she surprised. She should have expected that a paranoid person like Hux would install flawless security checkpoints in his vestibule. There was no turning back. She could only go forward; she would find a way to survive and kill the king, one echoing step at a time.

After the fifth threshold, the end was finally in sight. She took a deep breath and braced herself for her inevitable encounter with the Chancellor; the automatic door swished open and she was met with… a turbolift. First forward, now upwards— what was next? Zero gravity and having to float her way to the entrance? Kriff, this man was convoluted. She tried to keep track of the distance, but it was impossible to tell how many floors she travelled. With her ears popping at varying intervals, it had to be many.

The lift rumbled to a stop. Then, a chilling draft greeted her as the doors slid open. She entered, head held high, so high that she nearly tripped over a mouse droid whirring at her feet, tidying up the traces of outdoor grime she brought in. She only spared it a fleeting glance because she remained transfixed by the ceiling, endless like the sky, and the expansive viewport of transparisteel, similar to the grand dining hall but much bolder, taller to match its owner whose regal stance stood above the beautiful evening cityscape. Coruscant was bathed in blood red, as the sun released its last sigh before inviting darkness. Its warm light illuminated his bright ginger hair, a colour so vivid and alive like a passionate flame that drew her in.

But the effect was quickly snuffed out. He turned around, meeting her gaze with clear eyes, ice cold like the barren lands of Hays Minor and just as dead, as the First Order had murdered its soul. Her body froze on spot.

“Your hand,” he said.

“What about it?”

“Let me assess the damage.”

She didn’t want him to touch her again, not after that bite. She rushed back to the turbolift, smashing buttons on the control panel—at least this one _had_ a control panel— praying to the Stars that her random combination would somehow crack the code. His measured footfalls rang into the vast space like a chrono countdown; he was getting closer, this stupid door wasn’t budging, and she had nowhere to run. Before she could think of another solution, his shadow enveloped her body, and her hand was struck by another cold sensation, the smooth leather of his gloved fingers.

“We will need to stop the bleeding, but not by much. We can’t have you forgetting your affront.”

He cuffed her wrist with that cold leather grip, tugging her away from the exit and towards the lounge, like a ragdoll. She couldn’t let the pompous ass drag her around, not when she had nothing more to lose; he had already taken so much from her. She shook off those spindly fingers, and held her ground when he glared back at her, not in anger, but with a burning intensity that matched her own. There was fire beneath that stoic facade. What would happen if she broke down the wall and set it free?

“You choose not to sit?” he inquired, barely, as it sounded more like a statement. “Fine. Have it your way.”

A small medical droid popped out of seemingly nowhere, and immediately set to work on her wound, spraying bacta in just the right amount. It closed the broken skin, but not enough for the tissue to completely heal. A scar would no doubt be left behind, a reminder of his teeth in her hand, no different from the one she gave him. Then, the droid vanished right before her eyes. She blinked. Where did it go? An object could not disappear into thin air, it was impossible, unless he had yet again developed new tech. What else was hiding in this sparsely furnished room? Just how many droids did he have, and were the rumours true? Was he really looking for—

“Why did you bring me here?” Rose asked.

“For an ex-Commander and engineer, you ask dim-witted questions. I seek a kitchen servant.”

“That’s bantha shit and you know it. I revealed my intentions, you found the poison. You know I’m former Resistance, and I still want to kill you. The general I remember would never do something as stupid as invite an assassin to their home.”

His eyebrow quirked, disrupting the clean lines of his face. “You presume to know me.”

“I’ve researched my enemy, remember? I know you murdered your father, and I know how careful you are, always getting someone else to do your dirty work to cover your tracks.”

“How long has this obsession lasted?”

“Obsession?!” she cried. “I am _not_ obsessed. You ruined my life and I want to ruin yours, of course I’d come prepared with the basics!”

“Oh? Do you have something else hidden under that sleeve?” He circled around, his shadow looming over her shoulder. “Hidden beneath that gown?”

At this proximity, there was no way of hiding her trembling— from anger, fear, to the actual cold. She hoped he couldn’t hear the loud pounding of her heart.

“Take it off.”

“What?”

“Your gown,” he intoned. “Take it off.”

“No.”

“No?” He shook his head in disapproval. “Rose, there are a few rules you must learn as a servant of this household. First, never disobey a command. Failure to comply will lead to punishment. Do not force my hand. It has been a long day, I’m sure you are tired, as am I. Take it off.”

“I am _not_ kriffin’ undressing.”

He sighed and stepped away to sit on the sofa. Draping an arm over the backrest, he looked about ready to kick off his boots and flip on a holodrama to cap off the night. Six years and ultimate power were enough to change a person, but she didn’t think it possible for General Hux to back down so easily. Where was the bite, the menace, that—

Piercing metal clawed into her back, and a thunderous noise ripped through the vast silent room. Her breasts spilled out and she instinctively flung her arms over her chest. The frigid air bit her skin while she watched her gown fall to the ground in a heap of undefined fiber beside feet, two large metal feet. Her gaze followed the metal, up long limbs and a short hefty torso, to its red eyes that flashed on standby, awaiting its master’s next command. Where the _kriff_ did this security droid come from?

“Underwear too.”

“No!” Rose shouted. “You sick _pervert!”_

He rolled his eyes, and the droid took hold of her wriggling hips, tearing away her last piece of modesty. Knees buckling, she tried to hide her chest and nether region, but the droid grabbed her shoulders to force her upright. Both body and fear were put on open display. She couldn’t hide anything from his man.

“Let me inspect your person to ensure that you carry no cloaked devices. Unless you want the droid to do it? They are not exactly gentle.”

“I’d rather be raped by a droid than touched by you.”

His hand clenched into a ball of taut leather. The droid sprung back into action.

Not exactly gentle was an understatement: its rough fingers scraped her skin and bruised her flesh in its so-called pat-down search. She hissed in pain. Any longer and she would become an equal heap of useless fiber like the remnants of her gown at her feet. But despite the terrible discomfort of those cold and unfeeling metallic palms, at least it wasn’t _his_ cold and unfeeling palms.

It abruptly stopped, and she released a breath that she didn’t even realize she was holding.

“I highly suggest you comply for the last check. Security droids are not designed for this type of search. Neither of us anticipated this… unusual circumstance. Please, come sit.”

What the kriff was this madman talking about? She refused to get any closer to the stinking wretch.

“Quit dawdling and obey the command! I’m growing tired. The search can even be pleasurable if you stop resisting. I am no brute.”

“What are you talking about, Hux?”

“ _Chancellor._ ”

“Bastard.”

A sharp intake of breath, and then, nothing. Just dead silence. She could see the fury behind those pale eyes; they burned and melted his icy facade, but he didn’t budge from his seat.

“Demerit,” he announced, voice level despite the simmering rage. “You have a lot to learn, but I will let your insolence slide because I am a tolerant leader. I cannot fault your lack of civility—one cannot expect good manners to breed in squalor on a star such as Otomok, that dreadful place. However, Rose, there are limits to my tolerance and you are testing my patience. Comply, now.”

“Or else, what? You’ll kill me? Go ahead. I’ve accepted death back in the grand dining hall. There’s no room left for me. You’ve taken everything I’ve ever loved, and the First Order controls the whole galaxy. I have no hope for the future. I’m good as dead.”

“You don’t mean that. You are a survivor with immeasurable drive and tenacity. It’s the reason why I spared your life.”

She hated his astute perception. And she hated his height, how tall he was, as he now stood in front of her. She tried to back away, but the droid’s brutish grip on her shoulders held her body firmly in place— it wasn’t designed for this, it didn’t mean to handle her this way, this wasn’t its fault. The blame only lay in the evil man before her, towering over her, looking down on her.

“A real shame being born under a benighted star system, without the opportunity to realize your full potential. You could have been a formidable woman.”

“Am I not formidable?” She puffed out her chest, grasping at her last shred of confidence.

Hux scanned her, with that burning gaze piercing deeper than the metallic claws in her shoulders. “I stand corrected. As a _woman_ , you suffice. With time, we will remedy that egregious lack of discipline, but for now, we must carry on the inspection.”

The droid released her. “Come. We will do this in the bedchamber.”

“What in the _kriffin’_ heck are you talking about, Hux?”

“Chancellor!” he yelled, eyes wild and unveiling his frustration.

She was getting under his pasty skin, in a full-on dance with fire. He lit something within her too, something forgotten, something that used to define Rose Tico. Seeing that pallor rile up into a vivid flush of red, it was like being blasted back to that time when she faced death and bit him with the recklessness of her youth. All passion, not a care for consequence. She felt the familiar pull.

_“Bastard.”_

The droid gripped her, two of them actually, as another swooped down from Stars know where. One held her arms, while the other took control of her legs, lifting her up and splaying her out in a very compromising position. _Rose, you idiot._

“You’d rather be raped by a droid than touched by me?” he sneered. “Let’s give you a fitting punishment.”

He unclasped the fastener on the cuff of his gloves, one at a time, slipping off black leather to reveal slender pale fingers. Kriff, it was approaching, he was going to touch her. She struggled against her restraints, but it was futile, too late, his hand landed on her thigh. He was warm, warmer than she could ever imagine; a scorch like his furious gaze, nothing like the cold and unfeeling palms of the droids. He travelled the length of her inner thigh, until his fingertips grazed her labia and teased the outer folds with his feather touch. She flinched.

“I don’t have any vials of venom down there! That’s too reckless, even for my standards!”

“You have standards? Lying rebel scum. We can’t be too careful.”

She wasn’t lying. He wasn’t going to find any hidden weapons or some datachip with a virus code that could throw the First Order’s comm systems into chaos, or a cloaked binary beacon back to an underground Resistance base; there wasn’t anything sensitive down there, except her clit—oh kriff, he found it. Stroking in gentle circles, varying speed and pressure, he watched her like a surveillance droid to gauge her reaction and readjust accordingly. No matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to stop her body from heating up, from her toes curling, to her back arching. She really hated his smug face.

“This is an abuse of power, _Chancellor,”_ she managed to grind out, using every ounce of willpower to keep her voice steady and not suggestively breathy. “If this was a true inspection, t-to ensure that I carry no concealed arms, you’d let your medical droid do the job, like a health check. This”—she moaned— “is clear violation. T-this isn’t dignified for a person of your stature!”

“Impressive. Well spoken. A lesser man would fall for your reasoning, but I know where I stand.” He leaned into her ear. “You need to be taught your place.”

She bit her lower lip and screwed her eyes shut, but she couldn’t block out the sound of that mortifying squelch, as he dipped further, dragging two fingers inside and out of her sopping mess, repeatedly. She was losing the battle against her stupid body, against his stupid long digits that crooked into her, deeply, to touch places that she was never able to reach, alone with her too small hands in her dingy hovel down in Coruscant’s underbelly. This feeling, this place, she forgot it even existed. Her hips began rolling in time with his thrusts.

“Sweet stars, you love this.”

“I-I don’t and you know it. You’re the one who loves this.”

“I do not.”

“Does it turn you on? Preying on woman, touching them against their will?”

“This is punishment. I do not—”

“Ohhh~” She moaned over him, lewdly, on purpose. “Stop lying, you _love_ this. Love it when she’s unwilling and disgusted by you. You love it, don’t you? You’re just dying for more. Go for it, do it, shove that small cock in here and take advantage of the kitchen servant. Like father, like son.”

“ENOUGH!” he shouted, slipping out of her with a dramatic pull.

The droids simultaneously released their hold and vanished from sight. She fell, landing hard on the ground, crying as the shock of pain shot all the way up her spine.

She tried to clutch her sore ass, but her limbs refused to listen, too numb from the loss of circulation, and too raw from the intense stimulation. She couldn’t fight him off when he touched her again, arm slipping under the curve of her back and the other behind her knees, as he carried her to the sofa. His heavy breathing rivalled her own, and when she peeked through her thick lashes in a half-lidded gaze, she noticed sweat glistening on his forehead, with strands of ginger hair gone astray.

The seat cushion was firm, but a welcome comfort after all the hardship she had endured. Even though she tried to act tough, her body hurt and tears streamed down her cheeks. He dried them with the pad of his thumb, then personally sprayed bacta over her wounds, moving her limp body every which way to access the broken and bruised areas. She wished he would have let the medical droid do the job. She hated his stupid warm hands and mockingly gentle touch, as if he was handling some delicate work of art, as if he cared. She knew he didn't. This was all part of his sick power play. He tucked her hair behind her ear, fingernails resting behind the shell as he stared into her eyes.

“Now, have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, Hux.”

“ _Chancellor,”_ he growled.

“Bastard.”

She shut her eyes, ready to be choked, slapped, sexually abused. Instead, she felt a tug at her neck and the clink of her necklace chain unclasping—her medallion, the bastard stole her medallion! Before she could protest, he dropped his heavy greatcoat over her head, and retreated to his bedchamber.

His scent assaulted her, and she pushed the offending fabric onto the floor. But her bare skin begged to differ; she shivered uncontrollably and had no other cover against the chill of the dark room. Grabbing the gaberwool in a violent frustrated jerk, something fell from the front pocket and flopped to the ground.

Leather gloves. The ones he stripped off before touching her. She stared at them, its black colour blending with obsidian tiles, an outline only visible by its glossy finish reflecting the faint moonlight. She picked one up. The exterior hide felt cool and dead like the animal it came from, but inside, the nap was soft and warm. Maybe it would bring heat back to her numb fingertips. She slipped her hand past the cuff, then fingers through its fingers. The size was completely off, in both length and width. He had so much more reach with fingers this long…

Her cheeks grew hot. _Kriff,_ what was she thinking? She ripped off the glove and threw it back onto the floor.

Her skin healed but the hurt ran deep. She curled up into fetal position, hugging her chest and begrudgingly clutching onto his coat. She hated how it shielded her from the cold, and objectively, it smelled comforting, fresh, clean, like open air and a world outside this prison of transparisteel. She hated how it lulled her to sleep.


	3. An Explosive Revelation

**

Rose’s eyes flew open, then immediately retracted into a squint as she was blinded by intense light pouring from the massive viewport. For a second, she thought that she was back on Ajan Kloss all those years ago, in the open air greeted by morning rays at the crack of dawn. But reality quickly dawned when she averted her gaze to a darker corner in the opposite side of the room, and she saw _him_.

Perfect posture, not a single hair out of line. Dressed in the same imposing regalia, a tastefully decorated uniform, but a uniform nonetheless. The greatcoat once draped over her curves now hung over his straight shoulders. 

“I don’t have time for morning chatter,” he said, voice huskier than usual, likely his first words of the day. “You have one task— prepare a meal, scheduled for 1900. Failure to comply will result in demerits. A datapad and uniform await you on the kitchen counter.” 

He turned to the turbolift, gloved fingers hovering over the control pad. “Rose,” he added, sounding a little hesitant. Even from across the room, she noticed the purple tinge beneath his eyes. “Obedience is rewarded. Please comply for both our sakes.”

A few beeps and the door slid open. He was gone before she could stretch her vocal cords.

Her surroundings came into focus after she adjusted to the bright sun. Yesterday’s blood red sky and subsequent darkness must have played tricks on her vision. The ceiling no longer appeared as endless as the black hole she had perceived last night; there was not only a clear cap of durasteel, but the hatches lining the perimeter suggested potential exit points. Could she fly up and break through? _Highly_ unlikely.

The main exit seemed to be the turbolift. Could she crack it? Maybe with time and a hydrospanner, but the turbolift led down to that high-security corridor, an even bigger problem to crack. There must be another emergency exit somewhere. Definitely not the door next to the turbolift where he had disappeared last night. His bedchamber, she assumed. She had no intention of cracking that lock; it was better off sealed forever with him inside. 

So quiet. This open space, a lounge and dining area, would have normally been a hub in any other household. Minimal furniture, no decorations save for some black drapery on the wall opposite to the long table, and some bizarre pointy crystalline sculptures that resembled a sorry-excuse for houseplants. It had all the charm of a depressing Star Destroyer, but worse— it felt far lonelier.

Where were the droids? Lifting herself up on shaky ankles, she headed to his bedroom door to see if the security droids would appear. As she placed her finger on the release button beside the door, its hulking frame loomed over her shoulder in a flash, its hand on her hand, red eyes flashing in warning. She pulled back, and the droid vanished. Interesting.

She repeated the action, paying closer attention to the sequence of events.

After a third try, she figured it out. Their sudden appearance wasn’t a case of teleportation or some other fancy tech: it was simple cloaking paired with ultra-refined reflexes that propelled the droid up along the walls to the ceiling. They were hiding there on standby, cloaked, but physically there. She wasn’t alone in this space at all.

Her instincts told her that Hux wouldn’t have given his droids self-learning, intelligence, or any personality; they were programmed to do one or a couple of things, the true definition of non-sentient, unlike the droids she knew and cared for. No company, not even a droid friend like that YT unit in the Grand Kitchen. This place was getting more depressing by the minute. But this fact could work to her advantage because it rendered their actions predictable. She attempted to enter the other mystery rooms, and a security droid swooped down without fault. Her final assessment: they were programmed to guard the doors. 

Except for the kitchen. She found it adjacent to the dining area, greeting her with its gleaming black countertops, sophisticated appliances, and the bundle he left her. Stomach growling, she fixed herself some caf while she surveyed the items. 

A datapad. She loved its sleek feel in her hands, cool and solid, a real solid tool that she could put to good use, in ways other than ordering ingredients for that stupid meal she had to cook for him tonight. The uniform, on the other hand, she did not love. Picking up the lightweight material, her frown became deeper as it unfurled. _Sick bastard._ It was only an apron, one measly piece of fabric for her frontside, with ties at the neck and lower back. He left her nothing else, not even underwear. 

Was she really just a kitchen servant? She believed his words yesterday; she truly believed that he did all that, touched her like that, to show his dominance and establish the hierarchy in this household. He didn’t want to do it; he _had_ to do it, in his sick twisted reasoning like everything the First Order had done to justify their actions, to conquer the galaxy. She was vermin to him. Why else would he sully his precious manicured fingers, sticking them into a dirty damp hole and letting them soak until the skin wrinkled? 

He didn’t want her body. He didn’t want her. Nobody did. Hux was extremely perceptive, clever like a vulptex and just as swift, catching onto the slightest of details to use as a weapon against his opponent. He certainly sensed her unease, her feigned confidence when she challenged his words and puffed out her chest. He even responded with sarcasm— _I stand corrected,_ what bantha shit. He knew what she knew: her body was far from formidable.

But if he thought that nudity would make her cower, she would prove him wrong. No matter her insecurities, she refused to show him weakness and she would continue to fake her confidence until she escaped this damn prison. She would crash this tower of transparisteel and make it out alive, somehow. She tied the apron, ignored the breeze on her ass, and focused on the datapad while sipping her caf.

The ordering system appeared identical to the Grand Kitchen’s contest. It opened the door to all produce in the galaxy, but she started modestly—just some blossom bread and starberries, tree-grown ones to sate her curiosity. She had only ever eaten synthicated clones. Within minutes, a courier droid descended from a hatch in the ceiling to deliver her goods. 

The starberries looked underwhelming: a little misshapen, about a quarter the size of its clone counterpart, and its sunset-like colour much less vibrant. But the taste was beyond expectation. Crisp, sweet yet not overly so, with a flavour that evolved the more she ate. Tree-grown was the best! 

Except, it didn’t sit well with her stomach. Considering there were no trees in Coruscant, how difficult were these to procure? Who was getting shorthanded for her moment of pleasure? The taste suddenly soured, and even the fresh waft of blossoms smelled foul. 

She needed to escape this place. No, she needed to slay the demon king. If only she had a weapon, any sort of tool that she could modify… 

“A pressure pot,” she whispered. “Can I get a pressure pot?” She searched the datapad and to her luck, it was listed under miscellaneous equipment. These pots were a staple in every layman’s household, for simple delicious auto-cooking after a long day in the mines. They were also a staple for rebellion, when they fought with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the scraps in their kitchen. 

“The dish will blow your mind, _Chancellor.”_ She smiled deviously.

One pressure cooker bomb, coming right up.

  
  
  


**

  
  


Two pots were prepared. One sat in the center of the dining table, simmering with shrapnel under an opaque lid, while the other was kept hidden in the kitchen, after letting its actual cooking permeate into the space prior to his arrival. At 1900, the turbolift doors hissed open, and the smell of Haysian spice stew from the decoy hopefully threw him off the scent of her real intentions.

“I still don’t know why you chose me among all those amazing cooks,” she announced. “I only know simple recipes.”

He removed his gloves followed by his greatcoat, draping it neatly over the back of a chair. When he leaned slightly towards the pot, she quickly said, “It’s a stew.” His attention shifted, intense green eyes boring into hers and thankfully not dipping down to her half-covered breasts. “It’s served directly in the pot because that’s how we ate it back at home. No fancy presentation. Just staple food that filled and warmed our bellies after a long day in the mines.”

He seemed satisfied with the answer as he nodded and looked back at the pot, somewhat… expectantly, like he was curious about the taste. The tinge of purple beneath his eyes seemed darker than before, and his posture, not as rigidly straight as the Coruscanti skyscrapers; he was clearly tired, exhausted after a long day, and ready for some home comfort. She ignored the pinch in her heart. The man was _evil,_ his day had been long from all the _evil-doing._

“Have a seat, but don’t touch the pot, it’s hot. I’ll get some heat-resistant mitts, and the bread and some wine— we didn’t have that luxury on Hays Minor, but I tried it once in the Resistance when Poe found some emerald… It surprisingly made a good pairing.”

She watched him take a seat as she backed up into the kitchen, refusing to turn around and show him her ass left bare from the apron. The doors closed and she took a deep breath. It was now or never. 

_Sorry, Hux._

She detonated the bomb. 

A tremor and rumbling noise shook through the thick durasteel kitchen doors, and then, silence. It worked. The deed was done. That was it. She killed him. She killed Chancellor Hux. 

She should feel happy, relieved, satisfied at having finally succeeded in her mission. But she didn’t. What was _wrong_ with her? The pinch in her heart increased into a suffocating squeeze, a pain no different than the tight clutch of metal claws digging into her flesh last night. She blinked, stamping down the swell of her tear ducts. She did the right thing, she shouldn’t feel anything but satisfaction, she was just… stressed and emotional from this whole ordeal. Those tired green eyes and expectant look at her dish— no, she couldn’t dwell on the image. She would sort her feelings out later because she still needed to find that emergency exit. 

She stepped out of the kitchen, and then blinked again. 

Amidst a cloud of black smoke, the charred limbs of a security droid laid across the table like a fallen dismembered soldier. A clean-up crew rushed to the scene, snuffing out residual embers, vacuuming the smoke and debris, polishing scuffed floors and replacing black drapery on the wall. They worked with utmost efficiency in a blur of perfectly choreographed movements around a singular unmoving piece: Hux. 

He stood there with that tense spine, uniform only mildly peppered with dust. Ginger strands dangled over his forehead, likely from the gust of the explosion, but he otherwise appeared unscathed. However, there was fear in his eyes and something else entirely new.

“I was correct, of course I was, how could I ever doubt my intuition.”

He remained fixated on the dead droid, or maybe, on nothing at all. He seemed to be working something out in his mind. 

“… that nonsense council— a spouse, family, _normalcy._ A kitchen servant I instead suggested to appease their prying eyes... It was all wrong. _They_ were wrong, of course they were. How could I be so weak as to consider their opinion. Such a waste of time. I’ve grown soft, too soft…”

His voice then grew louder. “These rudimentary means, scraping by with nothing other than creativity and resourcefulness, fighting against all odds. I am watching my younger self—yes, there is something here. I do not know for certain, but you are showing me something, a familiar feeling, an energy that once lived within me.”

He finally turned around, to lock her eyes with his gaze. “Will you do it again, make my heart race like this?”

“I almost _killed_ you,” she answered, incredulously.

“Let’s not be mistaken here, Rose. That was never going to happen. May I enlighten you on a little history lesson?”

She only stared back at him in utter shock and horror. He was out of his mind, there was no other explanation.

“I was blasted, point-blank, in the chest. I survived. While Ren and the Emperor destroyed one another with their sorcery, while you pathetic Resistance lot celebrated the fall of the Final Order, you underestimated the true might of the _First_ Order. So foolish of you to think that we were nothing but starships and weapons of mass destruction. Simply, charging ahead like a foolhardy rancor, never seeing past what lay before your eyes.”

“Shut up. I don’t need your history lesson. I’m well-aware what happened to the Resistance, and to the culture of the galaxy.” 

“Then you understand. Your attempt, while impressive and most ingenious given the restraints, can never win against me.” He stepped forward but she did not flinch. “You will do it again, am I correct? Not up your sleeve, as you have none. You will do it, raw, _naked._ What more do I have to do, to push you to the edge and show me your potential?”

“You want to flirt with death?! People on poor stars are dying everyday and you are _seeking_ it?!”

“Again, that _confidence!_ You assume that death will come at _your_ hands? Incredible. You are incredible.”

The door behind her opened suddenly and a droid pushed past her, carrying the pressure pot that she had prepared along with the wine and bread. 

“How are you doing that?” she asked.

“What?”

“The droids. They just act on auto. Are they pre-programmed?”

“Of course not. Their fine-tuned sensors detect my subvocalized commands.” He took a seat at the now-clean table and the droid served his meal. “Have a seat,” he casually offered.

When she did not budge, he turned to his plate and sampled the stew. He nodded in approval. “Your obsession with me never ceases to impress. You even know my palate.”

“I am _not_ obsessed!”

“I wonder. How many hours a day, for the last six years, have you spent thinking about me?”

She bit her tongue. Truthfully, it was… a lot. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right, considering those hours were spent imagining his head on a pike.

“No answer?”

“Shut up and eat your stew.” 

He resumed his meal, keeping his mouth busy eating instead of talking, just like she commanded. Another droid handed him a datapad that he flicked through, casually, as if this scenario was nothing but a banal workday evening, as if there wasn’t a half-naked ball of rage, fuming, and shooting daggers at him with her eyes. 

“You must be tired after all these preparations,” he said, breaking the silence. “Sit down, take a rest, and build your strength for the next day.”

“This may be a game for you, but it isn’t for me.”

“Rose.” He placed down the datapad and regarded her seriously. “I am not playing a game. I am being earnest—there is something missing in my life, and I intend on finding the answer. Therefore, I need you to maintain your prime.”

“Give me some clothes.”

“No, you have not earned the right. In fact, you still need punishment for destroying my property—I was quite fond of K5-XH1, pity nothing could be retrieved from the rubble. That’s another demerit.”

The plasteel chair screeched against the floor. He got up and headed to the refresher without another snide remark. While he was gone, Rose’s stomach couldn’t take the hunger any longer; she grabbed a hearty bite of her stew, soaking it in bread and washing it down with wine, wishing that she could do the same with her bottled emotions. When she cleared her plate, the droids didn’t collect the dirty dishes, so she cleaned up manually, like she had often done back in her childhood on Hays Minor. She used to complain about the chore, especially when Paige skipped out unnoticed and left Rose behind to pick up all the dirty work. But when Paige returned with some neat gadget or interesting rock to study, she was always forgiven.

Maybe more wine was needed.

She resisted the urge and walked back into the living room. In that same instant, Hux came out wearing a black robe, hair loose and uncharacteristically fluffy.

“It’s late. Clean yourself up and come to my bedchamber. That will be your punishment.”

“I’m not kriffin’ sleeping with you.”

He met her hard stare for a solid ten seconds that she counted, then turned his back. “I leave the door unlocked.”

 _Cocky bastard._ Why was he constantly forcing physical contact? She knew that he knew about her insecurities with her body, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. 

She took her time in the refresher, cranking down the temperature of the shower to cool off her hot head. It chilled her bones but helped soothe her anger. Without a robe or even a towel in sight, she stood there drenched and miserable, until she noticed the moisture reversal function. As much as she hated this place, she had to admit that the tech was state-of-the-art, and had circumstances been different, she would have loved to pick it apart.

A cold draft hit her bare skin as she stepped back into the open space. _Kriff,_ she forgot the apron that would at least shield her front. She turned back to the refresher, but the door wouldn’t budge. It was locked. 

“No.” 

She rushed to the kitchen, a place that could provide some warmth if she activated the oven, but again, the door remained locked. No begrudging greatcoat left on the chair, absolutely no cover against the increasing cold. She huddled herself into a ball on the sofa, shivering intensely. Was it colder than usual? It could be the effect of stupidly lowering her body temperature in the shower… But when she saw her breath puff out in small white clouds, she knew something was wrong. It was definitely below zero centigrade and he was sending a very clear message: come to my bedchamber. 

She could seriously die of hypothermia. She hailed from an ice planet. She knew the dangers, but she refused to comply to his lewd demand. Her mind grew foggy and her eyelids drooped… Sleep seemed like a very good idea. Maybe it would numb the pain, in fact, her limbs felt nothing at all. Where was she again? Was she back on Hays Minor, or was it Refnu? She must have grown too cold after shielding Cat from the freezing winds. He hated the cold, that strange nefrian twice her size. She’d freeze on his behalf, to protect her beloved friends… She’d do anything for her friends…

Something touched her cheek, was it Cat? No, Cat was dead. Died in her place… without the chance to apologize. She was so sorry, Cat. She should have died that day. Paige would have joined her shortly anyway. And then, they’d never be separated again…

“Stubborn fool.”

She was floating. Was she joining her comrades in that rumoured spirit world? Flying into the blue sky, freed from the confines of her sluggish, heavy, body. 

A tingling sensation prickled her muscles, and then, she felt warmth. It was warm. Maybe she had flown so high, she was touching the sun.

“Troublesome woman.”

It was more than warm. It was _hot._ The comforting scorch touched her everywhere, thoroughly, from the dimples in her knees, to the crook of her neck. And especially her back, as the burn trailed up her spine and rested at her nape, behind her ear. This planet must have had two suns for it to generate such intense heat.

“I wouldn’t have touched you like this, had you just come to my bedchamber as told. You were supposed to sleep at the foot of the bed, like the animal that you are.” 

She didn’t hate the heat. Paige always wanted to settle somewhere temperate, with plenty of clear skies and greenery and wildlife. The sun’s rays beating onto her skin felt like a tight hug. She was being squeezed against something rigid, her back against a solid flat plank. Maybe it wasn’t the sun, but an engine that generated all this heat, from being stuck within the underbelly of a starship. There was a distinct hard knob lodged between the crack of her ass. Was she lying on a pilex driver? She often left her tools strewn across the floor; it wouldn’t be the first time she accidently sat on something hard and dangerous. Rolling her hips, she attempted to push it away, but it stayed firm.

“So sly, did you want to be touched?”

It probably wasn’t a pilex driver, but a part of the engine’s rough surface. All things considered, she felt comforted in this enclosed space. Familiar. Safe. She could fall asleep.

“Have you learned your lesson? Don’t be foolish anymore. You can’t die just yet.”

She wasn’t going to die. Not yet. She had a mission to complete. But for now, she’d take a nap in the warm guts of this starship, hard knob be damned.

  
  
  


**

  
  


The warmth from last night followed her throughout the day, but her flush peaked the moment she saw him again, for the first time at 2100. He arrived later than usual, no doubt exhausted, by the look of those heavy circles darkening his eyes, and the slight hunch of his shoulders. 

He removed gloves and greatcoat, neatly draping the garment over his favoured spot, and then took a seat. No words, not even a nod of acknowledgement, he waited to be served. She dropped his meal with a clang of ceramic against the dining table, and the bland Resistance gruel sloshed to one side of the plate. The beige porridge-like mass was packed with all necessary nutrients, but its aesthetic quality easily scored a minus five on a scale of one to ten. 

He cocked an eyebrow and looked up at her. “Demerit. Not for the presentation which is abysmal. For your lack of etiquette.” Then he ate with surprising gusto, either from hunger or from the genuine enjoyment of the texture of _gruel._

“How is it?”

“Excellent.”

She somehow knew that he wasn’t being entirely sarcastic. This man had the culinary taste of—well, a man who had spent his entire life at war. It shouldn’t have been surprising. 

“We need to talk,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him.

“Not tonight.”

“I was in a daze last night after you almost _froze_ me to death. I woke up in your bed—”

“Stop. I can anticipate where your assumptions are leading, and I can assure you that no, I did not defile your body. I simply elevated your body temperature until your condition was stable. Your foolish tenacity almost got you killed.”

“Hux, is the missing piece in your life a mistress? Is that what you need, the affection of a mistress? Because let’s be honest— I can’t fill that role. I’m the opposite of mistress-material.”

His metal fork clattered against the fine ceramic, as his dominant hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose instead. “How is the timing of your words so uncanny?”

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed deeply, a hint of a guttural growl. “Your attendance is required at a function.”

“What?! Oh _stars_ no!”

“I can’t even fault you for refusing this frustrating request! Believe me, I tried to shut it down, but I was overruled by the council.”

“The council controls your personal life?”

“This is _not_ a personal matter.” His annoyance didn’t seem solely focused on her. It ran deeper. 

“Okay fine, personal or not, why would the _kitchen servant_ attend a function?”

“Exactly my point!” he shouted, slamming a fist onto the table and taking her aback. “I had expressed this fact to those vacuous, doddering, old council fools. They _insisted_ that it was an opportunity, a rare chance to foster a sympathetic persona with the public— what utter rubbish, another poor attempt to undermine my authority. We wasted _two_ full hours discussing _inconsequential_ matters when the agenda had _far_ more important issues to address. If I had executive power, I would rip every single one of their—” He suddenly paused, and cleared his throat, trying to look as if he hadn’t just completely lost his cool. “Never mind. It is an affair that involves the Order. I am a tolerant leader and will heed the advice of the council.”

“Can I be honest and speak freely?”

“You’re asking permission? Is a meteor scheduled to strike Coruscant?”

“Yes, I heard it’ll be at midnight. Better ready the cannons to intercept it. Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like your council is trying to sabotage your reputation. ‘Cause I’m just going to embarrass you with my lack of etiquette.”

“There will be… education.”

“Education?” She didn’t like the sound of that.

“Lessons on etiquette, poise, the sort of skills that you lack.”

“Where are these lessons taking place?’

“At the Governess Mansion.”

Outside, it was outside. She could seriously use it to her advantage. Her tone softened. “I’m willing to… work hard, to meet your standards if you can promise me a few things in return.”

“You are not in the position to bargain, but go ahead, state your demands.”

“Give me clothes.”

He snorted, a rather undignified noise that she didn’t think his nose was capable of performing. “That is all?”

“And don’t touch me without my permission.” His eyes flashed with indignation and his lips quivered, likely preparing to throw another one of his twisted justifications, but she cut him off. “Is that a deal? Can you promise me these two things… Chancellor?”

The effect of the honorific was immediate. His shoulders slackened and he unconsciously leaned forward. With just one word, she commanded the man’s full attention. What would happen if she showered him with more praise?

“Very well. We have a deal.”

Damn, she should have asked for more.


	4. Gearing for Battle

**

  


Education proved to be an understatement which often seemed to be the case with Hux’s words. The Governess’ team did not teach: they drilled her like a stormtrooper, in a regiment of speech, walking, etiquette, _dance_ — she hated the dancing—and then there was the diet, stars, she swore the diet was worse than scrounging for scraps in the underground. Rations and rats she could live on. Pebble grains and suspicious bitter green pus juice, she could not. If they were trying to mold her into a thin little thing with body proportions like Paige, they would have better odds convincing the Chancellor to choose a different candidate altogether.

“You are obstructing the mouse droid’s course. Get up.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” Rose muffled against the floor, muscles a useless heap that failed to collapse onto her defacto bed, the sofa.

“Endure. It is only the ninth day, a quarter through the program.”

“Blast me out of my misery, Chancellor.”

“Quit uttering nonsense!”

His gloved hand cupped her shoulder, and without the strength to jerk it off, she was flipped onto her side. She frowned at the haggard face that stared back at her from above, huge nostrils in a seemingly permanent flare. “You promised no touching.”

“You are obstructing the mouse droid's course. Get up and soothe your muscles with a warm bath.”

"I can't move."

He sighed, so deeply that Rose could feel the frustration reverberate through the low growl in his throat. She wasn't even purposely trying to annoy him; she really couldn't move any of her limbs! All she could do was groan in protest when his thin yet sturdy arms scooped her up into a bridal carry. 

Bright lights shocked her retinas as he laid her down on the cold hard tiles of the refresher floor. She shivered, hating the chill and hating how useless her body had become. The sound of trickling water however soothed her ears and lulled her into remembrance, of D’Qar’s lush green forests with a distant stream behind the chants of birds and insects, the first she had ever experienced. She and Paige hadn’t been able to see clearly through their thick filtered goggles that protected them from the harsh sunlight; they relied a lot on their ears back then, and right now, it felt no different, with the calming trickle and humid air. She struggled to keep her eyes open.

Something warm touched her waist. Fingers. They were crooking into the knot of her sash and loosening it from her dress. She stiffened, but kept her voice level. “Hux, I’m seriously in no mood to be violated again. Do it in the morning when I have some feeling in my legs. I guarantee, the resistance will be much more of a turn on.”

“I am _not_ violating you!” he yelled, while ironically tugging off the sash. The front of her wrap dress fell open and the moist air hit the bare skin of her chest. His hand immediately retracted. “If you do not require my assistance, I will gladly take my leave.”

It hurt to lift her arms, but she couldn't ask for his help, not that he even bothered to wait for her response; he stormed off without a backwards glance or any final snide remark. Rose caught a glimpse of his reddened nape, hot from the steaming bath or from something else...

What a strange man. She had studied him for so long, she thought she knew everything about him. It was hard to tell which parts of him were genuine, and which an act. Did he even know where the lie of Armitage Hux started or ended?

Lying and acting, they weren’t her strong suit. There was a reason why she lived in the background, working behind pipes, never throwing herself into the beamlight. The only time she had put on an act, posing as a First Order lieutenant to infiltrate the Supremacy, well, it didn’t end well even though Finn and her managed to survive. She never forgave herself for their mistake. Most of the Resistance had been wiped out. It was all downhill from there.

“Just one night. Survive one night.”

She forced herself into an upright position, and pain shot up her spine. She collapsed back onto the floor.

Forget worrying about the function. She had to first figure out how to survive this damn training.

  


**

“What’s next on the agenda, YT?”

The surveillance droid paused midair. Its multi-jointed limbs fidgeted, reminding Rose of a sentient idly tapping the side of a datapad while searching the next item on the schedule. “Art of the boudoir.”

“What?!”

“Art of the—”

“I-I heard you just f-fine!” she stammered, feeling the burn up to her ears. Thankfully, YT wasn’t recording and projecting the holo in real time. She was in no mood to witness the physical incarnation of her embarrassment. The halls of the Governess Mansion were desolate like usual, not even another droid in sight, just blank walls with a surveillance system that Rose had yet to figure out. Maybe she was being watched, recorded, and distributed to the Chancellor. She should probably watch her mouth and control her reactions.

YT turned the corner down an unfamiliar corridor leading to a door, brutish in appearance, with its raw durasteel frame that reminded her of a starship’s brig. Was this awful lesson being held in a dungeon? At this point, nothing should surprise her.

The door promptly swished open, as if expecting her arrival.

"Welcome," greeted a smooth voice, deep for a female but not out of place for a woman with such impressive stature. Rose looked up from high-heeled feet to a pale lavender face, human in appearance except for the twin lekku sprouting from a black lace head covering. "Lilliandra. Please, come in."

A little entranced, Rose crossed the threshold into the dimly-lit room perfumed with something floral. Her droid companion however did not budge— weird, YT usually followed her everywhere to record each session. Before she had the chance to tease it for being scared or shy, the door slid shut. She turned to the twi’lek. "No surveillance?"

"No surveillance. This lesson is private."

_Private._ Her already flushed cheeks grew hotter. She had never considered herself a prude, nor was she a virgin, but this situation stood on an entirely different level. Whatever she learned today would implicitly involve the Chancellor, Hux, the bastard who wasn't allowed to touch her, a promise that he had been surprisingly keeping aside from the incident with the bath a few nights ago.

"You are nervous," the twi'lek remarked. "If you'd rather the company of the droid, we can invite it back in."

"No, no, that's fine. I'm just surprised this ummm, _session,_ is off the record."

"Affairs of the bedchamber usually are, my dear."

There was a twinkle in her clear blue eyes that struck Rose as curious, especially when their gaze locked for a bit longer than normal. Either she was being sized up or those eyes were trying to communicate something tacitly. "Is that the first lesson?" Rose asked.

"It is if you'd like it to be."

Again, the twi'lek stared too long for comfort. Rose was beginning to miss the authoritarian etiquette instructor; at least she knew how to deal with such a person. This twi'lek had yet to even introduce themselves and they were already feeling too intimate.

"Please, Lilliandra. Relax and have a seat."

Rose reluctantly obeyed, slowly stepping forward, further into the den of luxury. Fine drapery hung from the walls, and intricate tapestry covered the floor, in beautiful hues of reds like the Coruscanti setting sun. This pompous display of one's riches usually spiked her anger, but after the sterile minimalist decor of Hux's residence and of most of the rooms in the Governess' Mansion, these lavish textiles were comparatively warm and inviting. She took a seat on a low sofa in the lounge, waiting for her host's next move.

"Tea?" the low voice asked from across the room. "Any preference?"

"Anything but Tarine."

She chuckled, and Rose would have sworn that this woman knew the reason for her aversion. "Gynsui it is."

A shot of whiskey would be much preferred over a flowery, innocuous beverage like Gynsui tea. Rose kept her thoughts to herself, and politely accepted the cup as the twi'lek joined her, sitting across and still holding that intent stare. "Tell me, Lilliandra, what would you like to learn today?"

"M-me? You're asking my opinion?" That was a first. Nobody had asked what she'd like in a very long time. The twi'lek smiled and nodded, urging Rose to go on. "I wasn't told about this session until five minutes ago. It didn't exactly give me time to research and read about the topic."

"Literature serves little purpose in the bedchamber. I take it that you have little experience?"

She didn't know what to say to that. She had her fun back in the day, but that had been so long ago, she almost forgot the feeling. Not to mention, she hadn’t done _it_ in an actual bedchamber before. Only in starship utility closets, and makeshift bunks under the forest canopy. Never in a place swathed in crimson silks and doused with intoxicating perfume that made her head spin.

"There is no shame," the smooth voice reassured. "No droid to record your every move, no surveillance hidden within these walls— let it be known, the establishment would much rather omit my existence altogether if it were not mandated by tradition. The Governess does not rule this space, never has, as she considers it beneath her notice. We can spend the hour sipping tea in silence if you wish. Or, you can tell me what you'd like to know."

“What’s your name?"

“R-3153.”

Rose frowned. Designation numbers were meant for droids, troopers, and… She didn’t want to believe that _that_ practice was still thriving. 

“The First Order outlawed slavery,” the twi’lek began to explain, keenly sensing Rose’s unease. “But it will never erase its legacy. You may call me instructor, madam, R-3153— names are of little importance. Now, tell me, what would you like to learn?”

“How do I—" _Survive?_ No, she couldn't readily open her heart, not when she wasn’t sure if she could trust this person. "—fuck a man so tall?"

The piercing blue eyes went round for a split second, then recomposed back to their half-lidded air of nonchalance. "Is that really what you'd like to learn?"

_No._ But she wasn't about to admit it just yet. "Yeah. And while you’re at it, give me some pointers on the best technique for sucking cock."

  


**

“Get up. You’re soiling the floor with your drooping, filthy mouth. It's unsightly.”

“I’ve had enough. This training is worse than K5-XH1 feeling me up and your sexual assault combined. Heck, I'd even take the hypothermia over this.”

“Quit being dramatic and take a bath. Do you require my assistance?”

“Does it look like I can move?”

Hux muttered something inaudible, then promptly carried her to the refresher and placed her down in the same spot as the other night. “Your body will adjust to the training. By the end of the month, this nightmare will be over.”

“ _Your_ nightmare will be over, not mine. May I remind you, dear Chancellor, that I’ll be back to my kitchen duties and kept prisoner?”

“You are no prisoner.”

“I can just leave any time I want?”

“You signed a contract when you entered the contest.”

“What?”

“You are bound by that contract. It is your duty to serve. Failure to uphold your duties and you will receive punishment— _why_ is your jaw slack? I see the etiquette has yet to be instilled.”

“I, Rose Tico, never signed that contract! Lilliandra might have, but I did not.”

He shrugged as he approached the bath, flipping on switches to activate the hot water that filled the tub to perfect height and temperature. “The result is the same. You are bound to this household and bound to me.”

“And what about the assassination attempts? Making your heart race? Is that in the contract too?”

Clear eyes zeroed onto her, predatory and seething. She refused to look away. “Enough chatter,” he finally said, moving towards the exit. “Hurry before the water cools.”

The door swished open and close, leaving her alone on the refresher floor. He hadn’t admitted it, but she knew. The assassination attempts, making his heart race, it was a personal matter. Chancellor Hux was curious about something, there was something that she could offer him, but it had all been placed on hold because of the upcoming function. She was safe… for now. She could afford to push his buttons a little further and test his breaking points.

The heat of the bath performed wonders on her aching muscles. She relaxed and played with the soapy foam, picking up bubbles with the back of her hand and blowing them into the air. They floated, popped, vanished like they never existed.

Coruscant was a bubble. Even if she escaped this prison tower, she couldn’t get off this planet. Years in the underground taught her one harsh reality: information on the state of the galaxy was heavily regulated, with comm jammers so sophisticated, it would take an eternity to crack. Only one fact remained: the First Order ruled. The Resistance had lost the war by failing to see what was happening beneath the surface, that the First Order’s influence had changed public sentiment to the very core. Indoctrinating the poor and elevating the elite. The Resistance couldn’t fight culture and public sentiment. They couldn’t fight citizens who believed in the Order. They were too busy fighting, physically fighting TIEs and troopers, and failed to see that they lost the battle of hearts and minds.

To win against the Chancellor, would she have to break him from the inside? Instead of blowing him up with makeshift explosives, was there a way to manipulate his weakness from within? 

What a headache. She never played mind games with people. If only he were an actual droid that she could reprogram or install some sort of inhibitor.

The water turned lukewarm, fingertips wrinkling like the peel of a too-ripe jogan fruit. She got out, toweled herself dry, and put on her robe that did very little to shield the gust of cool air that greeted her as she exited the refresher. She went into his bedchamber, into the wardrobe to pick out some pyjamas—at least he had kept that promise—and slipped on a silken nightshirt and shorts that she begrudgingly relished the softness against her skin.

Before heading back out into the lounge, she looked at him, to the lying form under a thick duvet on the massive bed, so close to the edge that a small push would surely make him tumble out.

She wasn’t quite sure what overcame her, maybe exhaustion or temptation of warmth and comfort, or maybe curiosity, a desire for knowledge, to figure out what made this man tick. Her feet shuffled to the side of the bed. She peeled back a corner of the duvet, and despite the darkness, she could tell that he hadn’t even twitched. Only when her body slid between sheets and mattress, crinkling and shifting as her weight settled into glorious plush, he abruptly whipped around like a jittery animal.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep.”

“Here?!”

By the high-pitch screech of his voice, she assumed that he was red like the twi’lek’s boudoir. “Yeah, and don’t get any ideas. You stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine.”

  


**

Rose had no idea what was wrong with the boudoir instructor. She was usually so poise, so deliberate with her actions, but not today. A loud clatter of dishes disrupted the silence of the room, followed by a crash— a teacup had shattered on the floor. The twi’lek apologized with her head down, and a mouse droid whizzed by to clean up the mess. 

Those blue eyes had never shied from making intense contact, even when Rose was gagging and spitting during practice. Now, they only flicked in her direction, shyly, never locking for more than a few seconds. What was she so nervous about? 

The floral scent of gynsui tea soon filled the chamber, mixing with the existing notes of perfume. Teacups in hand, she approached the sofa and finally announced, "Today is our last lesson."

_Already?_ "But there's still two week till the function."

"The Governess controls the schedule. We are grateful to have had more than one session. ”

Rose sipped her tea, not quite sure what to say or how to feel. Sure, this instructor had made her feel uneasy and the practice had often left her with a sore jaw, but she was only starting to appreciate the relative freedom of this space. The boudoir gave her choices; her opinion was valued. She was beginning to feel comfortable under the blue-eyed stare, the riches, the strong scent—now it would all be gone, just like everything else from her past.

“You have done well, Lilliandra. You have done well. I have nothing more to impart aside from luck and goodwill."

Rose smirked. “So… I guess this is it. We can finally sit back and sip our tea in silence."

"The choice is yours. Silence isn’t a bad idea.”

They both drank to that. Neither tried to search for clues in each other’s gaze. Instead, Rose turned it inwardly, finally recognizing the sinking pit in her gut. It was grief. Loss. She had lost so many people in her life.

“Unless you'd like to chat?” the deep voice interrupted Rose’s thoughts. She looked up to a familiar yet curious glint in those blue eyes. “Might I suggest, under the light of the twin suns that never set?"

Every muscle in Rose’s body tensed, mouth hanging like a strangled gorg. Did this person just say…no—she must have misheard, or maybe a coincidence? “We can make it through the night,” she instinctively whispered.

“—knowing it's always there,” the twi’lek responded, completing Rose’s sentence. 

Suddenly, the curious twinkle all made sense. “The Resistance. It’s alive?”

“No, I’m afraid it’s not. But there are stragglers and allies. I am no longer active, but I will support in my heart until the day I die.”

“How did you guess that I—”

“You’re a natural. A rebel, that is.”

Too many questions flowed in her brain at once; she had no idea what to ask first. But it was their last lesson. They didn’t have time. “Can we stay in touch after the function?”

“It’s unlikely. I have never managed to get a comm signal out of the Mansion.”

Rose face fell, grief sinking further into deeper sadness. Just when she had made a connection, it was severed.

“Always remember. Your body is a weapon. Even if they disarm you, strip you bare, these”—a manicured finger pointed to her chest—"are a weapon. Never feel ashamed with what needs to get done. Never underestimate your power. Fight to win, Lilliandra.”

“My real name is Rose. Rose Tico”

She smiled and extended her hand. “Nitayy Gra. It’s an honour, rebel.”

*

YT beeped loudly, flashing red, complaining that Rose should have left five minutes ago— they were running late for the next lesson. The droid’s frenzy however felt distant. The First Order claimed that they controlled the whole galaxy, that everyone was tamed and cultured into their beliefs, but that wasn’t true. It was a lie. 

The Resistance lived.


	5. The Function

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dead dove! Dead dove reminder! Hope people can see past the questionable content and appreciate the worldbuilding details in this chapter. (I would have added more, but this chapter is already 5K). :o

**

Blunt fingernails dug into the soft flesh of Rose’s back as the handmaiden struggled to close the last stubborn fastener of the constricting bodice. When the clasp finally clipped into place, the girl sighed in relief. Rose wished that she could do the same, to breathe freely, to calm her nerves with a deep inhale and exhale of ambient floral air, or to simply relax under the touch of the seven girls tending to every corner of her person. But she couldn’t. Not with her ribcage trapped behind boning of Aiwha baleen, like the durasteel bars of a prison cell, or to the pointed brush on her lips painstakingly lining the perimeter with lush red, the colour of fresh blood— 

A series of muffled beeps rang at the door, the sound of someone disengaging the lock. Busy hands dropped to their sides, and the group scurried into a straight line. Seeing them together, standing in such a neat row, Rose noticed that they were all the same height, with identically slim builds, perfectly prim like the taut bun pulled at base of their stiff necks, so droid-like with their suddenly cold expressions. They bowed in unison. 

Rose didn’t bother turning around; by the sound of those measured footfalls, she knew exactly who arrived to crash her dressing party.

“Oh? Preparations are still ongoing?”

The senior handmaiden, El’ah, took one step forward. “Our apologies for the delay, Chancellor. The final adjustments should only take a few additional minutes. Please, have a seat.”

“Not to worry. Perfection cannot be rushed. Do take all the time necessary.”

The handmaidens resumed their work, but Rose felt the shift in morale— no chatter, more deliberate actions, stoic countenance; they did worry, they were rushing, and they were trying to finish as quickly as possible. Rose already couldn’t breathe properly in the tight dress; her staff shouldn’t have to feel the same. The entire affair was so suffocating, all thanks to mister overly-punctual-and-authoritarian. 

Hands dropped once again, and the girls scattered. The shadow behind her must have moved.

“Come forward, dear. Let me behold you.”

Rose pivoted on spot until she faced his begrudgingly impressive stature, all long legs like some fashion model in a classic dress suit: clean lines, stark black, gold accents. Minimalist yet regal. As always, his ginger hair stood out like a bright crown, impeccably groomed, with clean-shaven cheeks framed by sharp sideburns, and a peculiar golden barrette clipped above his right ear. Even his eyebrows appeared trimmed and set neatly into place above his striking gaze; those intense seafoam green eyes bore into hers with singular focus, as if she were the only person or thing in the whole room. 

She hated to admit. He looked good. Objectively, of course. She knew his ugly heart, but she couldn’t deny his attractive physique. 

A strange knot formed in her gut. She quickly stamped down the feeling and diverted her attention to her handmaidens. Their admiration practically dripped from their faltering composure, hands still clasped behind their backs but shoulders slightly rounded, lips suppressing a smirk, and cosmetics failing to hide their natural blush. What a change from mere moments ago when they were scared out of their wits. They were clearly enamored by their Chancellor. If only they knew what kind of man he really was behind that handsome mask.

El’ah cleared her throat. “We heeded your request, Chancellor. A custom gown evoking the darkness and beauty of the Outer Rim. Arkanisian silk hand-dyed with black iris root, weaved into a brocade of rose-gold thread spun with authentic Haysian smelt.”

 _The nerve._ Making her wear spoils from her dead planet. 

Hux nodded as the handmaiden continued, both oblivious to Rose’s indignation. 

“Hair, makeup, and fragrance were also inspired by the _rose_ theme, a tasteful choice, I must commend, sir. While one might have been tempted by the _lily_ to match Lilliandra, the _rose_ is clearly superior—”

“Change her lip colour,” Hux interrupted. “This one is too garish. A softer tone is far better suited for her complexion.”

“Yes, sir.” Two of the girls rushed to undo their work, their hour of application washed away with a quick swipe of cosmetic remover. In a frenzy, they grasped at their kits in search for other more appropriate shades.

“Leave it,” Hux calmly stated. “She is perfect.”

“But the stain—”

“—leaves the perfect amount of rouge. You may clean the edges, but do not add more product to her lips.”

“Yes, Chancellor.”

The girls hastily but accurately cleaned the edges with small dabs of concealer and neutral-tone liner, then returned to their strict position in line. The atmosphere tensed as the Chancellor closed the distance until he was standing barely a foot away from Rose, looking down, smirking. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, by his heart, and dragged out a silver chain.

“My medallion!”

“Yes, something old.” He looped it over her head, letting the pendant drop into the valley of her chest with its comfortable weight. She missed it. A _real_ object from her homeworld. Then, his gloved index touched her chin, lifting her gaze back into his. “Now, for something new.” 

From the trouser pocket at his hip, he revealed an elegant golden bangle, a gleaming band that seemed to match the metal barrette above his ear. 

A handmaiden gasped, causing Hux to chuckle. At the sound of their Chancellor’s surprising whimsy, the room breathed. Except for Rose. She had no idea what caused the mood to shift; it was just jewelry. He gently took her right hand, slid the bangle onto her wrist and secured it with a clicking squeeze. There was an inscription along its length in a language that she did not recognize.

“Arkanisian rune,” he supplied. “The translation reads, _Bound by Order.”_

Two other handmaidens began to whisper, piquing Rose’s curiosity. Was she missing something? It all felt like normal First Order propaganda, but they were being unabashedly giddy and Hux was tolerating, almost encouraging, their unprofessional behaviour. 

Soft leather met her cheek and he gifted her with another surprise— a smile. Not a cheeky smirk or a toothy grin. A genuine smile with lips upturned, a little lopsided, favouring a right dimple. And pale green eyes, appearing gentle under the relaxed brow. 

Kriff, the bastard looked better this way. If she ruffled up his hair and threw him into a mechanic’s jumpsuit, with a smile like that, he would fit right in with her crew, like some of the men from her past, the ones she had loved.

He leaned in and she was sure, this was it, he was going to kiss her. On instinct, like reliving a time when love existed in her heart, she stretched her neck to meet him. His forehead simply landed on hers, the tip of his tall nose tickling her skin and breathing out warm puffs of air. Their audience barely contained their gasps.

Hand still cupping her cheek, he glanced at them and said, “Dismissed.”

There was no edge in his tone, just a light-hearted command that made the young women file out immediately with knowing little grins. Rose even caught one of them craning back for more gossip before Hux positioned himself where he left off, with his lips a flimsi-width distance from hers, hovering there on standby. If the wind blew behind her, nudging her head by a fraction, she would touch him. She would kiss him.

The door hissed and the lock re-engaged with a series of beeps. They were alone now. Hux stayed in place. What was he waiting for? Should she make the first move? 

Then, he took several generous steps backwards.

“Pathetic simpletons,” he admonished, staring at the closed door. “Your performance was abysmal.”

His soft expression, now gone, still lingered in her mind. Her heart hammered against the tight bodice of dead silkworms and dead planet ore, her breath ragged and shallow. 

_Performance? All an act?_ She almost kissed the bastard, willingly! She had lost her mind. Meanwhile, he appeared completely unfazed by everything that just occurred, casually tugging the cuff of his gloves, arranging his sleeve. 

Her fury grew the longer she observed his utter nonchalance, as if he had felt nothing, as if that smile meant nothing. His cold aura filled the silence. This was the Hux that she knew, the _real_ Hux. She was an idiot for being momentarily enchanted.

“Do I have to kiss you all night, to hide that sour face?” he sneered.

“Did you also look like that, when trying to charm Supreme Leader Kylo Ren?”

His anger flared, much to her satisfaction. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing the bangle painfully into her bone. “Do not, _ever,_ utter that name again.”

“Why? Is he an ex-boyfriend? Unrequited love?”

“ _You_ insolent little— I can never show you kindness! You only respond to violence, to _threats,_ so be it. Have it your way. If you misbehave during this function, I will retaliate, and not through light punishment.” His thumb and forefinger pinched her chin, forcing her to look up into his flush, furious face. “I will blow up wildlife refuges and make you watch. I will raid neutral systems, call them insurgents, and let them rot in the rubble. It will be your fault.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would and I have.”

She gritted her teeth, held back her tongue that desperately wanted to lash out and fight. He was a liar, but this was no lie. He was the most spiteful, petty man she had ever met, and she knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate. 

He released his grip, then caressed the spot he mishandled. “You have been trained by the best. Do not disgrace me and the Order.”

“Yes, _Armitage.”_

He rolled his eyes.

It was going to be a long night, for them both.

  


  


**

The Governess’ team had prepared her for the strange habits and sights of the elite— for kriff’s sake, she lived with the Chancellor— but no lesson or simulation could prepare her for the real thing, the sheer grandeur and opulence of these people and this ballroom.

“ _Kriff,”_ she whispered to Hux, clutching the crook of his elbow a little tighter to steady her gait. “Is this really a regular ol’ function?”

Hux kept his gaze forward, again like some emotionless fashion model or a droid following the singular command of plowing straight to its destination. He seemed completely impervious to the flashing lights and unnerving mass of onlookers, the guests dressed as lavishly as themselves, bowing or saluting as they made their way across the hall. She was beginning to understand the purpose of his cool façade, those walls built from years of discipline; it likely helped to ward off the sensory overload that was prickling her nerves. 

Rose never liked the security detail either, a cadre of elite stormtroopers wearing deep red armour and black capes, marching in creepy unison like a procession. It reminded her too much of being dragged to detention. This whole place was a brig. And she was a prisoner.

They reached the head of a long table on a raised platform in the centre of the room where the galaxy’s super elites gathered. Other tables of lesser importance gravitated around them, in lower hubs of boisterous chatter and tipsy smiles from the cocktail event that preceded their arrival. Rose wished that she could sit further out, away from all the austere formality, and away from the tall shadow that loomed over her shoulder. Those Outer Rim territories knew how to party and she envied their drinks.

“Sit down,” Hux whispered in her ear. “And quit staring blankly like we’re in hyperspace.” 

She smoothed her dress as she bent her knees while Hux carefully adjusted her seat inwards like a perfect gentleman. Oh, the man knew how to act in front of a crowd. His hand lingered on her bare shoulder, then briefly touched her nape with a half-circle swipe of his thumb, a sensual yet classy display of affection. His message was clear. She wasn’t some dignitary, some renowned guest of honour seated by his right to flaunt the glory of the First Order. She was simply, _his._

Her lessons on dining etiquette also did not prepare her for the proximity of the Chancellor and his tacit demands. He removed his black leather gloves, folded them neatly, placed them in the pocket of his jacket. She wondered why he even bothered, those gloves were practically an extension of his frigid skin, until he reached for her hand under the table and rested it on his thigh. 

Shielded from the public eye, his long fingers slipped between her much smaller ones, and clasped to lock their joints together like two interconnecting gears. Warmth spread in her hand. His pulse beat in time with her nervous heart. What was he trying to prove? Rose hated mind games.

He released her only when the first dish was served, an appetizer of shredded raw meatstuff and unfamiliar colourful legumes. She took a small bite of the mix; a tangy and smoky sensation filled her mouth. Not bad. Just as she was about to take another sample, one of the guests, an elder man wearing a ridiculous hat that suggested his importance, arrived at the Chancellor’s side. She placed down her fork.

“A fine evening, Chancellor,” the man mumbled with the thickest Imperial accent Rose had ever heard. She honestly couldn’t make out the rest of his speech, although, it didn’t matter since she wasn’t addressed a single time throughout their exchange. There was a woman next to the esteemed guest, probably his wife, playing a similar role as herself. Silent. Accessory. Occasionally smiling. Rose never smiled.

The man acknowledged her at last with a smirk, and then returned to his seat at their table. He must have been one of those aristocrats from an allying system. 

Craving more of that tartare meat, she barely touched her fork when a flying servant droid stole the plate, and replaced it with a new, pungent, dish. A delicacy of the fungi variety, she suspected. Much less appetizing in appearance and smell, but she took a bite. _Oh stars,_ the sharp sensation raced through her nasal cavities like a shot of strong liquor. Once it died down, she was left with a somewhat sweet aftertaste. Strange, but oddly satisfying. She wanted another mouthful, but another guest arrived at the Chancellor’s side. She begrudgingly placed down her fork, again.

“Lady Eurice,” Hux said in admiration, raising to full height to offer a shallow bow of respect. 

This Lady was a tall brown-eyed beauty with sleek dark hair, a commanding presence, and her meek male partner in tow. She spoke clearly despite the Imperial lilt, but still, it was all phonetic jargon, no words with actual meaning to Rose’s ears. The same ingratiating First Order nonsense, this time about Arkanis’ economic growth due to the new trade routes or whatever. Rose kept herself awake by concentrating on the appetizer under her nose. 

“Beautiful bangle,” the woman suddenly commented. Rose couldn’t tell if her tone was sarcastic or a feature of her voice. “What does your inscription read, dear?”

“Bound by order.”

“Ah, how fitting. Armitage chose well.” 

Rose touched the metal band, feeling self-conscious under that noble gaze. The woman smiled, prettily but too well-bred to be genuine, then turned back to Hux and resumed their conversation.

Maybe it was better to be an accessory, to be ignored. 

The pattern continued. One bite of amazing foodstuff, one stuffy guest with no food for thought. On and on. So much waste of air and produce. Even Hux was starting to crack from the tiring pleasantries. 

While his courteous face greeted each guest with equal honour and praise, under the table, his hands quirked with his true feelings. Rose doubted that he was even aware of the language that he was creating with her. If he enjoyed a guest’s company, he would leave her hand alone. When he found someone boring, he would lazily trace circles on her palm, or lightly drum his fingertips as if counting each second of the interaction. Most of the guests received such treatment; most were old and dull. But he also disliked many people. She knew because he would take her hand full-on and clench at every comment that caused him displeasure. 

He must have _hated_ their current guest. He gripped her so tightly that her fingertips were going numb. 

The man in question looked no different from any other dignitary—tall, imposing, high hairline and piercing blue eyes. Another suit spouting First Order propaganda. Except there was a strange undertone, like coded messaging, little underhanded stabs that seemingly wounded Hux’s pride. When the man left, his grip stayed just as strong.

“Hux, cut it out.” 

He didn’t listen, didn’t budge when she tried to pull away. With her free hand, she reached for his strong jawline, cupped his cheek and turned his head towards her. “Let go. You’re hurting me.”

He shook off the glassy stare and complied, releasing his clutch. “My apologies.”

Rose stretched out her fingers, massaged her palm to encourage blood circulation while eyeing him through her peripherals. He still appeared defeated, lost. Younger, somehow. “Are you okay?”

“What?” he snapped.

“Never mind.”

He was no weakling. He was the king of this place. Let him wallow all he wanted in that somber mood with those sorrowful green eyes and downturned shapely lips. He didn’t want her sympathy.

He stroked the back of her hand, even before the next guest arrived.

  


  


**

The servant droid that picked up her untouched plate of Corellian choc soufflé did not replace it with another dish. Dinner finally came to an end. Even though the small bites of each course sated her hunger, she was pretty sure that her appetite at midnight would roar tenfold, especially when her belly was free from the confines of this damn dress.

Hux slipped his gloves back on. He tugged his sleeves, straightened his lapels, and then stood up with arms folded behind his back like the ever perfect First Order leader. The chatter in the hall immediately hushed. He had them programmed well, those mindless droids. 

“As our eve of great amity and cheer draws to a close, the night has just begun,” his voice bellowed into the hall through invisible amplifiers. “Before furthering our hard-earned celebration, let us commend the achievements of the First Order, from its valiant supporters and industrious allies, after this challenging yet prosperous quarter. The trade agreement brokered by the—”

Rose stifled a yawn. It was strange how she could read starship engine manuals for hours, but she couldn’t concentrate on a single sentence about trade and economics. It just wasn’t a language that she spoke.

“—and to the Cir Foundation, please, a round of applause for their everlasting support in the development—"

It was absurd, sitting here, in the center of this insane demonstration. The crowd followed their leader diligently, applauding when he said applause. He controlled them all. With all this talk about gratitude, she was just glad that she made it through dinner without blundering. The worlds that he threatened were safe.

“—significant progress in the RG-91 starfighter engine manufacture, an astonishing feat given the narrow margin of—”

The first thing that she wanted to do upon entering the residence was to kick off her heels. She had been sitting for most of the night, but the pointed toe and steep stiletto ached her feet all the same. It would also be a good idea to eat something substantial, maybe something simple and soothing like Haysian congee. And to rip off her dress, to soak in his huge bath and alleviate all her sores and kinks. 

“—and lastly, I would like to present—”

Heels off, dress off, bath, cook then eat? No, maybe let the congee cook on auto, then bath, and eat. 

“—my support throughout this arduous last cycle, the woman who I have chosen as my life partner."

_Hang on. What?_

“Please, my dearest blossom, stand with me.”

He stared at her with such laser intensity that Rose instantly complied. She bolted upright, dazed, trying to catch up to the situation. Did he just say life partner? 

He took her left hand and placed it over his ear, to touch the golden barrette. Then, he took her right hand, made one deliberate swipe of his thumb over the faint scar of punctures, and brought her wrist up to his lips. He kissed the bangle, directly on the inscription. Like a seal. A promise. An _engagement._

The crowd cheered, lights flashed. It was chaos outside and inside her mind. The golden bangle and barrette meant something serious in Arkanisian culture. He had, all this time, fooled her into thinking that this function would be, just a simple function. 

She lowered her left hand, but her right remained locked into his. He ushered her off the elite platform toward the open ground area. She was shaking, and surely, he could feel it. 

“Keep it in until we reach the dance floor,” he whispered, picking up the pace. She matched his long strides and they quickly arrived at the center of the empty space.

“When,” she said through clenched teeth. “ _When_ was this decided?”

“Not long ago.”

“Long enough to plan an Arkanisian proposal!”

Hux pulled her into his chest, to hide her snarling face from the audience. “The _worlds,_ Rose,” he breathed out, barely moving his lips. He petted the back of her neck, smooth leather over skin hot with rage. “Remember. The galaxy is watching. Keep it together and the worlds will be safe.” 

They readied their stance, her hand in his, and the other just below his shoulder. He supported the small of her back, holding her steady, infuriatingly steady. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?"

“Tradition dictates secrecy.”

“Tradition, my ass. Why would it matter when it’s all fake?”

The music swelled and the dance officially commenced. 

They weren’t required to perform elaborate footwork or demonstrate any impressive skill despite Hux’s perfectionism; they were simply opening the floor for other guests to partake in the festivities. Couples slowly joined, but all kept their distance from the Chancellor, each in their own little happy worlds with their partners. 

“Hang on. This engagement, it isn’t real, right?” He remained silent. “There’s no way you’d actually agree to go through with it all, right?”

He continued to dance, ever so steadily. She wasn’t sure if he was stalling or if couldn’t hear her under the loud music. She leaned in closer. “Aren’t I a stain on your reputation? The Great Chancellor, marrying… vermin?”

“On the contrary,” he finally replied, calmly, in control of both the dance and each muscle in his face. “The council brought back data last week. Your lowly status has been lauded. Commoners enjoy a tale of a king falling in love with one of their own, so to speak. Once the news of our betrothal reaches the Outer Rim, we predict a surge of approval in the, shall we say, _provincial_ areas of the galaxy.”

“Since when do you need anyone’s approval? Just go, blow up any star system that’s not licking your ass.”

His grip on her hand tightened, almost to a painful degree. His voice however remained calm. “Starkiller was misused by the late Supreme Leader Snoke who was a tyrannical fool, not a true leader. The destruction of the Hosnian System only swelled the flames of rebellion, a lesson that I learned and corrected for the better. May I remind you, the First Order won the war by gaining the galaxy’s _approval,_ unlike your dead Resistance.”

“So it’s propaganda, fine, that’s fine, well not _fine_ since the Order is evil, but fine as in, it’s just all rumours— get that approval, then let them forget about it and I’ll be off the hook.”

“There will be a ceremony.”

 _Ceremony? As in, wedding?!_ “You can’t keep up a lie that big.”

“If you are concerned about the data trail, rest assured, the records have been altered. We cannot have you married already, well, that _Lilliandra Tarr._ We made a new file, you are an orphan named Lilliandra, although, we might consider changing it officially to Rose when we add you to my registry.”

 _Kriffin’ hell._ What the _kriff_ was wrong with his brain?

“Armitage,” she pleaded with genuine concern. “We fight a lot but I thought we could agree on one thing. Neither of us wants this. Why does it sound like you’re… agreeing, like _actually_ agreeing to the real deal?”

“It is what the Order requires.”

“And when are you gonna do the things _you_ want?!”

He spun her around with a grand flourish, to distract from her sudden loud outburst. She landed onto the flat plane of his chest, nose inhaling his suffocating scent. “You can’t keep up this farce,” she continued, voice muffled and feeling lightheaded. “The council will only ask for more. What if they want an heir?”

“We will arrange an artificial impregnation. Unless you prefer natural conception? That can also be arranged. We will however need to get into the habit sooner rather than later. Natural conception is far less predictable and a longer process, but I am willing to cater to your preferences.”

Her cheeks grew hot. Her heels ached to stab him with her stiletto. She couldn’t believe he was talking about sex, with her, like this. There must have been another reason… 

“You’re… trying to rile me up. You want an excuse to kill the innocent. Nice try, I’m not falling for your taunt.”

“Rose, at face value, your genetics are advantageous. Small in stature, and ill-proportioned—that bust is far too distracting— but to have survived all the hardship you have endured, your body has proven resilient. One would hope that our progeny takes after you.”

“ _Our_ progeny?” Rose’s breath hitched. Her world was spinning, which had nothing to do with the twirling dance or his intoxicating cologne. Memories flashed, of his fingers in her cunt, of being warmed by his palms, of being carried in his arms, of sharing a bed. Now, he was proposing a life with her. Did he want her, for real? Where did the lie begin or end? 

“Hux, I seriously need to know. What do _you_ really want?”

Music waned and the final chord echoed into the hall, effectively ending the dance. He looked into her eyes and his cold demeanor began to melt into a soft smile. That _unfair,_ warm smile.

She wasn’t going to fall for it. She wasn’t going to let her guard down this time, she couldn’t—

He kissed her. Short and proper, but a meaningful press that fluttered her heart. He didn’t back off. Instead, he kept the tip of that tall nose perched onto hers. His hand snuck up to gently hold her chin.

He breathed out a word, barely audible, barely moving a muscle. A low growl of a sound that was clear to her ears, not to anyone else. One word, an answer to her question.

_Rose._

Then, he dove back in. He kissed her, not short and proper, but sensuously long like a slow drawl that begged for her acceptance. He did not take, he gave. Knees bent, the prelude of a kneel, he lowered himself to meet her at her level, at her height. He offered her his smooth, unctuous lips. Those lips that served his Order, that he used to ingratiate his Leaders until he spat on their dead bodies, claiming the throne, alone at the top. He wanted her to have him, to rule by his side.

Her resolve dipped, her chin dipped, her mouth dropped, only by a fraction, but enough for his suave tongue to slip in. He gave her that too, his tongue. His dreadfully skillful tongue that commanded the galaxy with the roll of his Imperial accent, and the sharp words of his speech. She stood no chance against it; his tongue didn’t have to be an enemy. 

Slowly, she took him in and deepened the kiss. She no longer fought, not when it ignited all the pleasure senses in her mouth, sending tingles down her throat, spine, all the way, deep into her belly. 

It had been too long since she felt this way, since someone, anyone, _gave._ And she wanted. Rose wanted so much more. Her body and heart craved this feeling that she thought had died when she fell, alone, into the Underworld.

He slowly guided her up, lifted her with the fingers under her chin. He began straightening his knees and she chased his lips, up and up, until she stood at the tip of her already high-heeled feet, until her arms reached out and grasped the back of his neck, greedily wanting more of this high. He gave and gave and the only thing that he took was her breath.

He finally broke away but held her gaze with an intimacy reserved for the bedchamber. Then, thundering applause erupted. She whipped her head to the massive crowd, a dense semi-circle barrier of flashing lights, cheering, and claps of approval. 

No, this wasn’t right. She did not approve. She never agreed to any of this! 

Without a second thought, she pushed him away and stalked off. 

“Rose!” he called out behind her. She quickened her steps, desperate to find something solid to lean on, as her world began to collapse. 

She arrived at a vacant dinner table, still littered with cutlery and plates of foodstuff, a table for the Outer Rim where the servant droids did not care to clean. She leaned onto the edge for support, catching her breath until the source of her stress, the man who _stole_ her breath, caught up with her. 

Hand balling into a fist, she readied a punch in case he got too close. But as she flexed, the betrothal bangle constrained her movement. She shot an angry glare at the offending golden band. _Bound by Order._ Bound by him. She was tied to a string. She needed to cut herself loose.

Next to her hand, the metal blade of a steak knife glinted like a beacon of hope. As she grabbed the handle, before she could pick it up and lunge towards the towering body that began swallowing her in his shadow— 

The world went completely black.


	6. Death and Sex (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the lovely [the_desk_fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_desk_fairy/works) for beta'ing this chapter! Go check out her fics. They are awesome.

  


  


**

  


_Rose._

A figure stood in the distance, basking in piercing light, so bright that their shape bled into the endless white backdrop.

_We will reunite, someday._

The disembodied voice echoed in her mind, familiar yet indistinct. Was it Paige? She couldn’t see clearly. If it were Paige, she would surely recognize her sister right away. She had always been able to spot her in a crowd, even amongst the masses of identically dressed miners, in the darkest chasms of Hays Minor. 

“Don’t go!” Rose cried, running at breakneck speed towards the blurred form that began to fade. “Take me with you!” She reached out, fingers extending into sharp points desperate to hook onto a wrist, a shoulder, anything to anchor them into place. Just another lunge and she would make it. The tip of her forefinger met a solid shoulder blade and she jerked upright, gasping for air. Pure white changed into the drab grey of the Chancellor’s bedchamber. A dull ache pierced her temples. Sweat ran down her clammy skin, every muscle sore from Stars knows what hit her last night. 

Her arm fell, limp on the fluffy duvet. She blankly stared at the golden bangle on her wrist. It glinted prettily in the early-morning light, softly glowing from the simulation viewport behind their massive bed. _Their_ bed. Her skin prickled at the thought of Armitage Hux, of his soft lips and objectively handsome face. Memories of the previous night surfaced like a disjointed holo, flashes of images and feelings; she hopped from scene to scene, hoping to land on a clue that would explain her collapse. 

She was stunned, that had been evident. It couldn’t have been a droid or trooper; her vision might have been crossed from whatever she had felt after the _kiss,_ but she was certain that security hadn’t hovered over the Outer Rim tables— nobody of importance sat there after all— and Hux wouldn’t allow a public display of violence on the bride he had just claimed. It could only be—

“A miniaturized stun cuff,” she said, frowning at the bangle, its deceiving beauty shining like a little warning flare. “Just my _kriffin’_ luck.”

The barrette above his ear, close to his temple, might have played a role, somehow tethering his mind to her pulse. Would he continue to wear it throughout the duration of their engagement to keep her in line? She hoped not.

Rolling out of bed with a groan, she shivered as the silken robe over her shoulders did very little to shield her bare legs and chest from the draft of recycled air pumping from ceiling vents. Her precious medallion, also cool against her skin, hung between unbound breasts. That damn pervert must have been so smug last night, stripping off her tight dress and heels, cradling her body and tucking her under their shared duvet. She lowered her hand to her crotch, fingers swiping over outer folds and sinking briefly inside. Had he— no, it seemed out of character. Hux might be cruel, but he was too spiteful; he would have wanted her to be conscious for such humiliation.

She rushed to the wardrobe and slammed the control panel. The lock did not disengage. Again and again, her palm struck the damn panel, and still, it only beeped and flickered red. 

Punishment. Back to the beginning. At least she had a robe and her medallion this time.

Straightening her collar and tightening her sash, Rose stormed out of the bedchamber and stood proud, despite the aches from temples to the balls of her sore feet. He barely acknowledged her presence, perusing a datapad, while sipping a hot cup of morning tarine tea at the dining table. Above his right ear, there was only ginger hair plastered against his scalp in the usual strict style. No golden barrette, thankfully.

“Is this my new uniform? A skimpy robe and a slave cuff?” 

He set down his cup, and regarded her with those tired eyes shadowed by deep purple. He didn’t sigh, but that look seemed to let out an exasperated breath. “Gain some civility and you will earn your right to clothing.”

“Really, Hux? We’re back to this?” She marched over to him, hands on her hips. “What happened while I was unconscious? You better not have stuck those twiggy fingers into my—”

“I did no such thing!” he snarled, taking a stand. He towered over her, but she raised her chin in defiance, refusing to back away or back down. “ _You_ almost ruined everything. The perfect end to an exceptionally crafted night was nearly marred by your disobedience. I could blow up multiple star systems, increase child recruitment, poison the waters of your precious sanctuaries— but I won’t. We were quick to steer the story to our advantage.”

“What _story?”_

He let out a sigh, a real one, so heavy that his straight shoulders drooped. “You are pregnant.”

“What?!”

“We will announce your miscarriage in a month’s time.”

“People actually believe this? The timing—”

“Fooling simpletons is child’s play, especially with our immodest public display of affection. Excellent foresight on my part.”

 _Foresight?_ So the kiss had been a preventive measure, a _tool_ that he could use to sway people’s emotions. She crossed her arms over her chest, nails digging into her flesh, holding herself to hold back the urge to break that haughty nose.

“Well, your lewd proportions and pretty face also helped to convince the public. I give credit where it is due.”

“There is no way people actually believe this.”

He grabbed the datapad and shoved it into her chest. “Here, a gift for the day. See for yourself what you are to the galaxy.”

She continued to frown at him, but her stance softened as her hands met the smooth surface of the pad. A single glance at the screen, to the flickering green-lit text, and her pinched brows redirected their ire at the words and moving images. With a tap, the images projected into a bright holo above the pad. Her mouth went dry, jaw locking, unable to throw back a witty response.

He chuckled. “Have a nice day, _Rose.”_

Hux’s measured footsteps receded into the distance, the turbolift doors hissed, and then silence reigned. She was fixated on her holo incarnation, beaming like a newborn star in deep space, in that sparkling inky dress, all wide-eyed and dangling off the arm of her regal partner for support. They danced, all traces of their contentious conversation masked by angles and light tricks; every dip of her brow interpreted as smiling eyes or a squint of lust. The Chancellor beamed like a real lover. Tender gaze, soft touches. He looked approachable, so much more handsome. It was unfair. 

And he kissed her. Stars, the journalists captured every moment of that kiss, even counted how long it had lasted— two minutes and twenty-six seconds. Had it really been _that_ long? She swore it felt no more than five seconds. 

There was however one detail the onlookers didn’t catch.

_Rose._

She nearly lost her footing when he had said her name. He had been quick to prop her up with a steadying embrace, and she had fallen right into his trap. That dulcet tone, lulling her into his lips, keeping her hooked on that taste of _power._ It was intoxicating. 

This woman in these holos, all rosy-cheeked and dazzled by her betrothed, Rose couldn’t believe that this person was her, that she _actually_ looked enamored and happy last night. She played the part, she looked the part, she fooled the whole galaxy with the bat of a false eyelash. Was this how life felt in Hux’s boots? How could a person live with all these lies?

Rose devoured headline after headline, ignoring the growl of her stomach that ached for breakfast, then lunch, until it was midday and she became delirious from the toxic news. 

She needed to purge herself of the shame… and of him. 

  


  


**

  


“What— is that?”

“Gamorrean calf.”

“The _leg_ of those barbarians?” He slapped a gloved hand over his mouth and nostrils, apparently resisting the urge to vomit. 

Rose clicked her tongue. “The young animal, dummy! Four-legged, about the size of a bantha, feeds on forest mulch. It’s all the rage with the hip foodies of Coruscant, according to what I read on the holonet today.”

Hux kept an eye on the generous slab of roasted meat while he removed his gloves, shrugged off his greatcoat, and took a seat at his usual spot. He seemed disturbed by the size or maybe the shape, as the chunk indeed resembled a male Gamorrean’s calf muscle. 

Perfect. The more distracted he was, the better.

Rose activated her kitchen vibroblade, palm a little sweaty over the handle that pulsed like a steady engine. She held on tight as she approached his side and leaned into the table to reach the roast, carefully watching him through peripheral vision. His attention remained focused on the dish, not on her body edging towards his shoulder. Good. Just a little closer—

The blade met the skin of the roast and slid through dense tissue with graceful ease. The slice of meat flopped down like a sheet of flimsi, soaking into the reddish meat juice pooling onto the plate after the cut.

“The trick is to slice it real thin,” Rose explained, as the blade thrummed and tore through the flesh weeping with its juices. “This cut may be the finest on Gamorr, the most tender given the young age of the animal, but a slab of it isn’t intended for human teeth. I read that it’s best served thin, from a blade that can easily cut through any—”

She turned on him, knife aiming straight for his throat. 

Hux didn’t miss a beat; he blocked the assault, catching her wrist just before the razor tip reached his collared neck. One firm squeeze of the bangle sent a jolt up her forearm like a warning flare. The knife dropped to the floor in a resonant _clang_ , and he tugged her arm like pulling the string of a kite, handling her body with the unpredictability of a child playing with its toy. She stumbled, stomach falling into his lap.

His wide palm rested on her ass, the warmth permeating through thin silk. He didn’t strike; he waited. Ever so patiently. Cool and collected.

But it was a front. 

At this proximity, she felt the slight tremble of his legs, heard the subtle elevation of his agitated breaths. She almost got him.

“Really, Rose? We are returning to this?” His thumb swayed back and forth, as if considering a proposition. “Well, this outcome isn’t entirely unwelcome. Your little stint has certainly cured my lethargy with a dose of natural stim. Will you do it again?”

He tapped her ass lightly, then released his hold on her wrists. She quickly scrambled off his lap. He reached down to pick up the vibroblade still buzzing. He flipped it off, cleaned the blade with a napkin, and re-activated it to slice more pieces of the roast. All very casual. Irritatingly calm. 

She sat across from him, broke a piece of bread, and placed it on his plate. “Yeah, I’ll do it again.”

  


  


**

Rose decided to keep him on his toes, like he had often done with her. Every time she served him a meal with sharp cutlery, those pale eyes would narrow and dart warily from knife to her hand, carefully watching every twitch of a digit like an oversensitive surveillance droid. Let him think that she would be so stupid as to repeat the same tactic and expect a different result. Let him underestimate her.

By the tenth evening, she noticed his guard falter as she wielded the vibroblade through an Onderonian gourd stuffed with veg and minced meatstuff. Head tipped back, eyes closed, he paid her no attention.

“Long day?” she asked, touching his shoulder. He jerked back, spine snapping from slack to taut, eyelids shooting open into a menacing glare likely born from conditioned reflex.

“Relax, I’m not gonna kill you.”

His gaze softened then fell to the gourd, at the multi-colour mixture of veg. “Eat,” he commanded.

“Oh c’mon, if I had access to any poison, I would have done it already!” He remained still, infuriatingly passive with his demand. “Fine!” she shouted, grabbing his dinner knife and sawing off a small piece with unnecessary force, a shrill screech against ceramicware. She stabbed the piece with his fork, and popped it into her mouth; she chewed, swallowed, and stuck out her tongue as evidence. “See? No poison. What’s your sudden fuss anyway? Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust your word. So much that I have been waiting for your next move.”

“You’ve been thinking about me?”

“Every waking moment.”

The temperature in the room either raised or dropped, she wasn’t sure which; her skin felt _something,_ like a shift in the air. Thick. Difficult to breathe. She struggled to gulp it down and feed her lungs. She scurried to the other side of the table, across from him, and served herself a slice. Mouth stretching wide, she inhaled her food in huge chunks and loud smacks, etiquette be damned. “Maybe I’m all out of ideas,” she finally said, mid-chew.

“I highly doubt that is the case.”

“Yeah?” She slammed her fork down. “You think you know me?” 

“I do know you.”

“Right, _of course,_ you know everything with this state-of-the-art surveillance system. I bet there are even cameras in the ‘fresher bowl to monitor the colour of my shit—”

She shoved another generous mouthful of gourd and bit into a pocket of pepper, too much pepper. She coughed, then gasped, and accidently inhaled a ball of meatstuff. Between labored breathing and panic, she heard a clatter of metal against ceramic; he was by her side in an instant, steadying her, patting her back as she heaved out the offending piece.

“Drink!” He handed her the whole carafe of water, dropping all decorum. She drank, washing away any stray crumbs that threatened to travel down the wrong tube. His hand was still on her back, rubbing gentle circles, while the other held her hand in a tight grip. 

“Kriff, should have mixed it better,” she said in a rasp, a wry smile forming at the corner of her trembling lips as his pale face came into focus. “Watch out for the pepper pockets— not intentional, by the way.” 

He pulled her into his chest, hugging her so tight that she could barely breathe again. 

“Hey,”—she squirmed in his embrace—"you trying to suffocate me?”

His hold slackened, but he still held her close, nuzzling the crown of her head, nose buried in her hair and tickling her scalp. He held her as if he cared. 

She couldn’t stay in his arms, not when her heart started to match his rapid, pounding rhythm. “I’m gonna need something stronger to drink,” she whispered, slipping out of his yielding embrace.

She rushed into the kitchen, and leaned her back against the prickling cold durasteel doors to stamp down the lingering warmth of his chest. Her heart wouldn’t settle, still a frantic mess and longing for its partner rhythm, but her mind knew what had to be done. She reached into the cabinet for her concoction: a wine bottle filled with stove fuel, its neck wadded with a rag and a lip extending past the sealed edge. 

She lit it up, opened the doors and chucked the bottle at his now seated figure. “Drink this!” she screamed. A wall of flame erupted as the doors hissed shut. She knew it wouldn’t kill him. Her throw was too slow—he had seen her— and the droids would have more than enough time to shield him. 

Through the thick wall, she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Enjoying the Rash cocktail?! Is your heart racing enough, Hux?”

His response, while muffled, was clearly heard. “Brilliant! Absolutely divine! Racing like lightspeed, thank you very much!”

  


  


**

The Rash cocktail left a scorch mark, one that could not be erased without a full replacement of his precious obsidian flooring. She knew that it bothered him every time he sat at the dining table, eyes flicking to the mouse droid that jerked backwards and forwards, polishing the stubborn spot to no avail. Hux wanted it gone, but his tired shoulders probably couldn’t carry any additional burden, that inconvenience of coordinating a renovation to fix a minor flaw. He left it, a small victory for Rose.

After an uneventful dinner— leftovers, of which Hux did not complain— he disappeared behind a door adjacent to the kitchen while she settled on the sofa in the lounge, waiting for him to re-emerge.

Two hours passed, two hours of boredom on the datapad that had its content restricted to propagandist news and holodramas, horrible state-sanctioned sagas where the Imperial heroes always saved some damsel from nefarious pirates, bounty hunters, or rebels. Her nose itched from all the snorting and unintentional laughter. Maybe it wasn’t so boring.

Midway through the fourth episode, Hux reappeared, eyebrow cocked, likely surprised that she was still awake and not tucked into bed. Lips firmly pressed, he walked towards the refresher. At last, it was her chance. She bolted and slipped inside just as the door hissed shut.

“What are you doing?!” He whipped around, collar and two fasteners of his tunic already undone, revealing a creamy white neck, reddening the more she stared.

“Taking a bath.”

“Wait your turn!” 

He turned back towards the wall of sober grey, like a grand statue embellishing the otherwise dull bodrite tiles that stretched from ceiling down to the perimeter of the recessed bath. She rushed to him, hugging him from behind. Even after a whole day in polluted Coruscant, confined to stuffy buildings with stale air and First Order stink, his clothes smelled clean, fresh, with the faint hint of sweat that she recognised as distinctly Armitage.

“Truce?” she asked. “Let’s talk, in the bath.”

There was a pause, silence except for the trickling water from the jets running on automatic. He sighed. “Face the door.”

“Why?”

“Do as I say.”

She obeyed with a huff, expecting to be groped at the ass or stroked at the nape. Instead, she heard the shuffle of cloth and the hollow slosh of water. She peeked around and caught a glimpse of pale ass cheeks obscured by steam, and long _long_ legs that folded into the soap-foamed water, hiding everything below his flat chest. 

Right. Naked. She also had to get naked. Why was it suddenly so difficult to move her fingers, to command her limbs to function? He wasn’t even paying attention to her, as he dipped under murky mineral water and re-surfaced with a gasp, pushing back ginger hair darkened from moisture, the glistening droplets rolling into small streams down scarred freckled planes, pooling at the juncture of collarbone and slender neck. 

He had seen her nude countless of times, but she had never seen him. With mock confidence, she loosened the sash around her waist and let the robe fall to her fidgeting toes. Naked, save for her medallion resting in the valley of her chest, and the bangle glinting on her wrist. She shuffled towards him, heart hammering in her chest.

No big deal. 

It was just Hux.

Her foot cut through the surface of steaming hot water and landed on the first step of bodrite, then the next and next, until her calves, thighs, and entire body were submerged into the pool that washed away all stress. As much as she hated luxury— felt sick to her stomach knowing that a single bath could be rationed for half a year and sustain an entire platoon of Resistance fighters— she couldn’t deny the pleasure and calming effect on her muscles. There were worse things this man and the First Order had done to the galaxy. One bath was a drop in the bucket.

“You wanted to talk?” he asked, breaking her thoughts. “I assume you care not for the trivial affairs of our daily tasks. What is it that you want to discuss?”

“I—” she hesitated, somewhat struck by the clarity in his eyes, so green under the soft lighting of the refresher. “I wanted to re-evaluate our contract.”

“What is there to re-evaluate?”

“The whole, demerit system, _thing._ You’d call out demerits, but sometimes I behave well and you take it back. Right now, I’m guessing I’m in the negative since you haven’t given me access to the wardrobe. Is it arbitrary or is there an actual scoring system?”

“Of course there is a system. You are currently at negative seven.”

“That’s it? I’m quite close to neutral. How do I win back my privileges?”

“By following orders.”

Right. Orders. Then perhaps he wouldn’t mind if she—

“Would you like a massage, Chancellor?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, not that his jaw seemed capable of forming a reply anyway; she swam up to him, letting the surface of the soap foam skid across her chest, hiding right at the nipple and showing off the top half of her bare breasts. She climbed into his lap, straddling his waist. He held her by the small of her back, apparently consenting to this breach of protocol or whatever they had arranged; she couldn’t keep up with his lies, but his hungry look, staring at her exposed chest and pert nipples, told her everything that she needed to know.

It would make her task all the easier.

She raked her fingers through his damp hair and massaged his temples. His head tipped back, extending a lascivious neck, breathing deeply through flared nostrils. He was unwinding under her touch—good, let him melt. She grew bolder, edging her body closer, gently rocking her hips back and forth, creating small waves within the bath; excitement no doubt rippled through his body as well, if the hard knob pressing against her sex was any indication. 

His hand cupped her cheek to guide her gaze into his, to remind her exactly whose arousal was trapped beneath her own. He blinked, fluttering those ginger lashes flecked with minute crystal beads, tiny water droplets that reflected the light. Radiant. How could a man look so pretty? 

He sighed and leaned into her. Hands still in his hair, she loosened her grip and let him kiss her lips, only briefly, before she guided him to her neck, then lower, down to the valley of her chest. His nose tickled her skin as he chased after her nipple, clearly hungry. 

_What a moof-milker._

She kept him steady between her breasts where he dragged wet lips in a trail of kisses just above the medallion. When his mouth was kept busy, Hux was actually pleasant, a little too pleasant. Pity that it all had to end—

Her fingers clenched and she dunked him straight into the water, pushing her whole weight down onto his head. He thrashed and fought, but she had the element of surprise and the advantage of gravity.

Until, a slim arm crept from the depths of murky waters and five tentacle-like fingers wrapped around her right wrist, clamping over the bangle. 

_Kriff. Not this again._

The jolt was more than a warning; it shot up every nerve and seized her whole body. 

  


  


*

  


Rose woke up to the familiar dip of the Chancellor’s mattress and the usual draft blasting from overhead vents, hitting her bare legs and specifically—her nipples. Damn perverted moof-milker. Her chest remained warm, bound, but her rock-hard nipples ached from the biting cold. She stirred, and her eyes flung wide open as _something else_ ached between her legs, something lodged all the way inside. 

It buzzed to life and she gasped. Back arching, hips wriggling, she clutched her groin in a futile attempt to pull the thing away. Her hands only met the slippery, seamless, skin-tight suit compressing the flesh of her torso—minus the naked peaks of her breasts— with ridges of embedded circuitry that pulsed and radiated heat directly into her spasming muscles. The vibrations increased, and she clawed at the bedsheets, grabbing fistfuls of _anything_ for support.

The cursed contraption did not relent, did not miss a beat. Unfeeling, precise, it grew in length and thrusted deeper like a tenacious probe droid on a mission to unravel her darkest secrets, to discover areas of pleasure she did not even know existed. 

She peeked through heavy-lidded eyes, through the curtain of her black hair sticking to her sweaty forehead and burning cheeks. He watched her with a predatory glare, patiently, sitting in an armchair with legs spread open, robe also open, exposing flat white lean muscle lined with faded scars and a trail of ginger that led to a very angry, erect cock, angled upright like his perfect First Order posture. His hands clutched the arms of the chair, flexing as she panted, open-mouthed and ragged. He did not touch himself.

“Are you going to come, Rose?” he asked calmly.

Did she have a choice? 

“Ahh little busy r-right now.”

His tongue clicked and the phallus sped up, retracting and extending vigorously. Nodes on the thick stem dragged along her clenching walls, catching and pulling with such delicious friction; she saw stars, the whole kriffin’ galaxy. She climaxed, letting out a long, drawn-out feminine moan that filled her ears with shame, and her belly with delight.

It didn’t matter. There was no place for guilt when her body felt this amazing.

Limbs splayed over the bed, she had no energy to fight him off when he approached. He touched her as he pleased, tucking the strands of thick damp hair behind her ears, unlatching the hidden fasteners and peeling off the play suit. He held her close, a blob of Resistance mush in his arms.

“Satisfied?”

“I could go for another round.”

He grunted. Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her back onto the mattress. His lanky body hovered above, the massive erection defying gravity as it stood proudly at full attention. 

“Hux, I was being sar—"

He rained down on her, in a wet needy kiss. 

_Stars,_ she was joking about another round, but his stupidly soft lips were convincing her otherwise. What a nuisance, a distracting temptation designed by the First Order to throw obstacles in her path. She could not let him win, to simply concede, but when he cradled her face, thumb slipping onto her chin to drop her mouth open, she gave him entrance. That poison tongue slipped in, teasing hers with deepening, sensual strokes that stoked her desire once more. 

As she melded into him, returning tongue and lips, responding with a back-throated moan muffled by their connection, he slowed the pace and let her lead. She gladly took the opportunity: she sank sharp teeth into his lower lip, breaking the thin, sensitive skin stretched over moist pink flesh. He hissed and retreated.

Blood dribbled down his chin, but he paid it no mind as he continued to stare at her with crazed, ravenous eyes. Her body moved on its own, diving back in, kissing him tenderly, mashing his blood onto her raw swollen lips, until _he_ bit her back. She howled in pain, grabbing his slender neck with both hands to pry him off. The slick flow of blood pooled along bottom gums, and she swallowed the lump, tasting metal and the traces of his spit. 

He cleared his throat. “Rose, perhaps we should—"

She pounced onto him with another kiss. She just wanted him to shut up forever. To break that stupid mouth, twist that tongue until it couldn’t form another word. Fingers threading into fiery hair, using the fine strands as reins to control this rabid beast, she pulled him closer, tighter; the flat white pectorals brushed against the tip of her perky nipples, while his leaking cock smeared a trail of slick over her belly. She bit him again, same spot, same intensity. 

He cried aloud this time, licking the wound with a swirl of a lush tongue, then attacking her with an equally strong bite followed by a firm press to staunch her fresh wound. His chest met hers, supple breasts conforming to his planes. His cock slotted between folds, but it did not sink further; he rested there, teasing her clit with a rocking brush every time their mouths pushed and pulled, kissing and nibbling, not just lips but ears, neck, and nipples too. 

Kriff, she wanted him inside. Not fingers, not a plastoid phallus, but a real, living, meaty cock spurting hot seed into her womb. 

Between right and wrong, Rose chose to be selfish.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shoutout to any TCW fans who caught the very obscure reference I made XD


End file.
